Domestic Liberation
by Lnzy1
Summary: Alternate G1. It is suggested by many experts that if you ever find yourself kidnapped or taken hostage, it is always a better choice to cooperate with the assailant to avoid injury, but does this rule apply to alien abductions as well?
1. Chapter 1

I know, I know. ANOTHER STORY? YOU STILL HAVE THREE OTHERS TO FINISH!! But the plot bunnies! They will not let me be! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story. This idea was born of several things, mainly a combination between the Transformers Mirrorverse fanfiction collection and a number of fanfics here written by many talented writers. I'd list them, but I can't recall some of the titles and such and I'm too lazy to go look 'em up right now. lol

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Domestic Liberation

Phase One: Entrapment

**Synopsis:** It is suggested by many experts that if you ever find yourself kidnapped or taken hostage, it is always a better choice to cooperate with the assailant to avoid injury, but does this rule apply to alien abductions as well?

* * *

Prologue

The room was very expansively large compared to her, but she'd grown far too accustom to everything being so much bigger for it to bother her much anymore. As she did with most of her time, she stared through the giant pane of glass that expanded across most of the far wall. There was a four foot high border spanning the window's length that made a foot wide shelf that she often sat on when she grew tired of standing. She would gaze out at the alien civilization through the window for hours. There wasn't much left for her to do when her master was out and she was less likely to get into trouble if all she did was sit there. She didn't want to send her master into another temper.

The world was similar to that of big cities back home, only far larger in scale and sophistication and complexity. The natives of this alien world had technology that had only been conceived as mere possibilities in science fiction. There were wonders that amazed and bewildered her, but to the natives these 'wonders' were so mundane that her master found great amusement in watching her discover and experience them. It was this fancy of his that had given her a better understanding of the world she now lived in and she knew her 'education' was just an unintended benefit. But this unintended benefit had paved way for an even greater and vital understanding, one that her master was thoroughly unaware of.

And with it, she hoped to one day leave her prison and find a way to free her world and her people.

* * *

Chapter One

"The good die young, nice guys finish last, and never assume the worst is over.

Bad luck loves an optimist."

—Anonymous

* * *

"That'll be 11.53, sir," the cashier said cheerfully. The customer, a short middle aged man and balding, extracted a single bill from his worn leather wallet and handed it to her sluggishly. The cashier made no motion to suggest she was even aware of the man's mood and simply took the bill with a light cheerfulness that seemed outright ungodly at such an hour.

"Out of 20," She said and slipped the bill beneath the metal clip in the cash drawer. She then took several other bills from other slots and a few coins, holding them out to the customer, "And 8.47 is your change. You're Pizza should be ready in a few minutes."

The man took his change and quietly thanked her as he slipped the money into his wallet and wandered away to claim a booth for himself. The cashier surveyed the lobby with a sweeping glance, noting the absence of the younger crowd with a worrying crease of her brow. A hand suddenly appeared on her shoulder, startling her out of her thoughts. She whirled around to look at the face of her manager smiling down at her.

"_Geezus_, Jerry," She breathed, placing a hand on her heart, "You scared me."

Jerry was a large man, bald, and wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans. The shirt in question was splattered with grime and tomato sauce from the day's labor and an equally dingy apron was wrapped around his husky waist. The man smiled, brown eyes twinkling.

"You're done for t'night Brea," He said, "You're probably the only student right now _not_ studying for finals."

Brea frowned and pinched her lips. "Yeah, but I've got another two hours until my shift ends and I've been studying for weeks; I don't cram like everyone else."

Jerry laughed, a rich deep baritone sound, "Yes, well that's good to know. You have a good head on your shoulders girl and it does my heart good to know you're using it. But I still want you to get on home. It's slow tonight anyway. And you have to get up early tomorrow doncha'?"

"Yeah," She said, not looking forward to having to get up at such an ungodly hour, "My Psychology final is at six o'clock."

Saying it aloud seemed to convince her that she really could use a night off to finish up studying and get a good night's sleep. Brea reached behind her back to untie the red apron from her and folded it and handed it out to Jerry. "You've convinced me, Boss."

Jerry laughed lightly, taking the apron and folding it over one arm. She took one more sweeping glance of the lobby before turning and heading for the back. She picked her way through empty boxes and cases of tomato sauce, while at the same time trying not to slip on the slippery floor, and made her way into a small alcove in the back to gather her things. The room was roughly the size of a large closet, one wall covered with small cubbies. She reached into one of the small cubicles and took out her purse, setting it atop the small counter lining the other wall. She rummaged around until she found her cell phone. Flipping it open, a banner pop up, telling her she had three missed calls, text message, and a voice mail. Taking a moment to sift through menus, she opened her inbox and read the text message: Call me.

It was from Laura. She then checked the voice mail.

Her mother's familiar voice drifted through overlaid with faint static.

"Hey Brea, it's Mom. Just wanted to call you and see how you were doing and see if you were all right. Dad and Joey say hi and we all want to know if you're coming home for the summer break. Ok, well, call me when you get this ok? Later honey."

The message clicked and the phone's monotone voice asked her if she wanted to delete the message. She closed the phone and put it in her pocket. Taking up her purse, Brea exited the small break room and back towards the lobby just in time to see Jerry hand a wide thin box to the balding man. She walked around the counter, smiling waving to Jerry.

"Bye," She said.

"I'll see you tomorrow Brea, be careful."

The pizza shop door jingled as it closed behind her.

* * *

The streets were eerily deserted, pavement still wet from the winter rains. Humidity hung in the air like a lingering odor and a cool wispy breeze cut through it every once in a while. Brea's sneakers tapped dully against the concrete sidewalk as she strolled down the street. Many of the shops were closed and only a few small restaurants or bars still had lights on, some with lingering patrons outside the doors. She past a bar with several men assembled outside smoking and walked by with a quickened pace, holding her breath against the acrid smoke that gathered there. She took a deep breath when she was out of range, but still managed to suck in some of the smoke that seemed to have followed her. She coughed lightly to quell the tingling in her throat.

After walking another half block, she began to wish (not for the first time) that she had the money to get her car fixed. Walking everywhere was pain, even if it was good for you. She dreamed of the soft seats and rubber clad steering wheel. She even missed the odd clicking noise her car made whenever she drove less than 20 MPH. She still needed another 150 to pay the mechanic. When she got paid on Thursday, she should be able to get her car back. Thursday never seemed so far away.

Sudden light startled her and she whirled around to see a parked car on the other side of the street, facing the wrong direction. It had its high beams on and Brea sneered at it, she couldn't see the driver. The car pulled out from the parking spot and drove off, still on the wrong side of the street.

_That idiot's going to get in a wreck_, she thought incredulously. _What a moron_.

She watched the car disappear down the road and when she could barely see anything but the red dot of its break lights as it turned right.

Brea shook her head and wondered silently how long until the idiot got pulled over by the night patrol. She reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone. She opened the address book and flipped down the list of names until she found the one that said "Laura" and pressed enter. As she raised the phone to her ear, she heard a quick session of seven beeps, a pause, and then it began to ring.

There was a small beep as the call was answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey Laura," Brea smiled into the receiver, "What's up?"

"Oh! Brea, I was just about to call you!"

"I got your text."

"Really? Oh, I didn't think it went through," Light laughter filtered through the line, "My phones sucks so hard sometimes. I was in Calculus when I sent it to you and I only have like two bars in Mr. McConahay's room. Those walls are made of led so or something. Probably so no one can here you scream."

Brea laughed into the phone. "So are you cramming for tomorrow?"

"Hell yes I am," The girl replied, "What about you?"

"Jerry let me off earlier tonight," She answered, "I'm gonna go over my Chemistry and Psych notes and then go to bed."

Laura groaned, "How come you have the will power to start studying weeks ahead of finals and I can barely force myself to study for an hour?"

"Because I loose my scholarship if I fail?" Brea offered with a little humor, a small attempt to cheer her friend up. "I don't wanna go home and have to take out a loan for community college."

"Ah, good point," Laura replied. "So you wanna come over and study a bit with me? I can drive you back to the dorms later."

"Nah, I'm almost home anyway," Brea replied, "Besides, I think I'd just distract you from studying."

"But I like distractions…" Laura whined, causing Brea to giggle.

"Well, I guess I let you get back to it," Brea said, "Just wanted to return your call and see if you were at it."

"I'll probably be _at it_ until five minutes before class," Laura added.

Brea huffed a laugh, "Well, I'll see you tomorrow OK?"

"'Kay. See ya Brea."

"See ya."

Brea clipped her phone shut and stuffed it into her purse. Up ahead was the short cut she habitually took. She reached the opening to the long ally and hoped over a stream of dirty water the flowed out of it and into the street gutters. She was careful to watch where she stepped, not wanting to find her foot inside a pile of garbage some stray had rummaged through or worse. The smell was always unpleasant but with the humidity, the stench seemed ten times so. She breathed through her mouth so as not to smell the grim and sewage, looking up every now and then to make sure she wouldn't run into a trash bin.

She jumped in surprise when she was suddenly doused in bright light, and she raised her hand to her face to shield against the radiance that pained her eyes. Squinting past the luminosity, Brea saw the fait outline of a car at the far end of the ally and she scowled.

_This guy is an idiot,_ She growled. _Must be a lost tourist or something. _

The car's engine gave a rev and, annoyed, Brea stepped close to the wall to allow the idiot to pass. The car revved again and drove forward.

But as the car neared her, it slowed. Brea sighed in annoyance. _Just go you moron, there's plenty of room._ But it continued to slow and as it got within seven feet of her, it stopped.

Brea felt panic begin to swell inside her. She backed up a few feet. The car rolled forward a few feet.

Real panic began to set in and Brea just turned and ran back the way she came. The car revved once and then its engines roared as it zoomed off after her. Sprinting over piles of trash, Brea fumbled around in her purse for her phone. She pulled the small gadget out and flipped it open. She managed to push nine before there was a sudden _snap_ from behind her and a sharp jolt of pain in her arm. She tumbled forward to her knees, scrapping them along the jagged asphalt. Wincing and breathing hard against the pain, Brea turned her head to look at her left shoulder. There was a small tube sticking out of the back of her shoulder and for a long moment she just stared at it stupidly. Brea gingerly reached up and pulled it out and she was horrified to see a needle slip out of her shoulder. She looked at the odd tub needle and found it strangely difficult to name the object. Brea knew what it was…but the name was lost on her. Everything was slowing and her vision began to blur at the edges.

She swayed unsteadily and caught herself with her free hand, her other still clutching the tube thing. She eye the needle dumbly as thought process broke down and motor functions failed. Her grip loosened and the needle thing dropped from her hand. Then she noticed the lights. Turning her head sluggishly, eyes already beginning to droop, she saw the car pull up close to her. So close in fact that she could feel the heat from its engines.

There was a sound like snapping and scraping metal as the car began to shift, seeming to fall apart and then…pick itself up. Her eyes watched the car as it stood, high beams still blaring down on her, and all she could make out beyond the light was a dark outline of a figure. The giant figure bore down on her and a hand, large and black (and not just because of the lack of light), and She absently noted the blue color of the forearm as it reached out. She didn't even have the notion to run or to scream. As the impossibly large hand loomed over her, coming closer and closer, the world began to fade into blurry nothingness and finally everything just went dark.

* * *

She was awoken by sudden light. Awareness came back slowly in a fuzzy blur and the first thing to register in her mind was the cold. She was also aware that she was lying on her back and her body was cushioned by something soft, but the pain in her head, pounding with a migraine, and her left shoulder and arm, feeling as though they were on fire, caused her from appreciating it. Groaning, Brea turned onto her belly to keep the flaming limb from further irritation. She felt something cold and metallic press against her neck and she felt ill. Her throat screamed with thirst and her stomach felt as though it had collapsed in on itself from hunger. She tried to curl her hand into a fist, but found no strength to do so. She blearily looked around her, neck and spine cracking and popping with the moment. Black vertical bars lines her vision but as sight cleared, she saw they were metal bars like those of a cage…and she sat up with a start, regretting the abrupt action as her body and mind protested with a myriad of pain of varying degrees.

She sucked in a pained breath and collapsed back to the ground with another wave of pain.

She could hear faints voices and with trepidation, Brea raised her head slowly to look out. She couldn't see much, so she slowly worked her way into a sitting position, trying her level best to tolerate her sore body and nausea. Brea could now see rows of cages stacked on top of one another in neat little rows.

Inanely, she blinked and thought to herself, _I'm… in a cage…? _

They were all occupied, she realized, with people. Most, as far as she could tell, held up to five people. She looked to be the only one caged alone. Many that she could see looked as though they were also just beginning to wake up from the deep sleep while others were still very much unconscious. She noted absently that she seemed higher up, with the floor being a good 15 feet below her plane of sight.

A faint, somewhat muffled, _thrum_ drew her attention from her surroundings as it grew louder, evolving into a steady rhythmic pattern of _klang_. Her heart pounded in her temples, seeming to match a doubled pace of the approaching noise. And then, what seemed to be a wall of metal swept by the restricted view of her cage. She jumped, surprised, as it passed by and her brain, still struggling to reboot from the groggy sleep, went completely blank. She tried to put a name to the thing, but there was no name for her to associate it with. She scuttled as fast as she could over to the cage's entrance and poked her head out between the bars, looking down the way the thing had gone. She saw its back and noticed it had an over all, odd, boxy shape. Its torso was essentially a square, edges rounded somewhat, with square shoulders and oblong arms and thighs that lead to large rectangular legs. It didn't appear to have ankles or feet, just legs. Even its head was a square.

…_robot?_ She thought stupidly. Her heart made a daring leap into her throat when the robot turned and started walking back the way it had came. With a squeak, she ducked back inside her prison and laid down, shutting her eyes and pretending to be asleep. Her heart hammered in her chest and she held her breath. The _klangs_ grew louder as the robot approached and as they reached the top of their crescendo…it stopped. Curiosity was faster then logic and Brea opened one eye without a conscious thought. The giant robot had stopped in front of her cage and was now peering down at her. Its eyes glowed like dimmed head lights of a car, basking her in faint red light. At the picture, both eyes shot open and her breath caught in her throat.

There was a long moment where she and the robot simply stared. A little disturbed, she noticed that the robot had a face startlingly akin to a human. Eyes, mouth, lips, chin, even a nose! Its face seemed to be made of a malleable sort of metal because as Brea continued to stare at it with wide eyed terror, it smirked. Crease lines appeared at the edges of its mouth as the lips pulled back in the condescending gesticulation. Before Brea could react, it pulled away and continued to walk on down the row of caged humans.

She lay there for a long moment, allowing her panicked heart rate to ease back to a normal rhythm and for her mind to attempt to make sense of what was happening. Then the lights flickered and died and her world became black.

Author's Notes:

Brea's name is pernounced "Bree", like the cheese.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: This story starts slow, I know, but picks up. I takes a little while to get there is all. Also the begining will seem a bit spacey. You'll learn what is happening just as Brea is. All in good time.

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**Phase one: Entrapment**

Chapter Two

The lights abruptly flicked on and, like every time before, Brea squinted against the optical assault. She heard faint hisses and moans from people in the other cages as they too resented the sudden light.

Her migraine had diminished over a long period to a barely noticeable ache. Her body was still stiff as a plank of wood, her movements creaky and rigid, but thankfully the searing pain in her arm had also been quelled down to a light burn. After inspecting the offended arm, she found a swollen bump on the back of her shoulder, just beyond her range of sight. It stung maddeningly for her to touch it, but like a child picking at a healing scab, she continued to finger it (out of curiosity then anything else). It had been dark when the swollen bump had unexpectedly popped and she felt warm blood, and possibly puss, ooze from the new wound. She hissed in pain when the skin broke, causing her to shiver involuntarily. She cleaned her hands by swiping them onto the padded cushion that lined the floor of her cage.

Since waking up in the strange place, the lights had come on six times, with long periods of darkness in between. During the dark periods, she could hear people crying. Each 'light time', a robot (there were three different ones she had seen so far) would walk into the room down the line of cages, looking into them to peer in at the inhabitance. One of the robots seemed slightly OCD and took his time peering into each individual cage for a few seconds before moving onto the next.

On the sixth 'light time' one of the robots (its body colored an obnoxious yellow and purple) had walked in carrying a strange oval tank with a small think hose as the end. It would pause in front of each cage, slip the think hose inside the cage over a container near the bars and fill it half way with water. Brea had drunk from the water with life craving earnest, ignoring the metallic taste.

Her dire thirst quelled, she sat back against the wall and waited as the other cages were filled.

A sudden harsh noise, over laid with faint static, caused her to jump, bumping her still healing shoulder painfully against the wall. Curious, she crawled over to the bars and peered out by sticking her head through. She absently noted that a few other people were doing the same. The robot was crouched low, looking into a cage near the far end. Its eyes glowed bright red and it punched the floor with its fist, causing several of the curious onlookers to flinched and pull back behind the bars. The robot looked up from the cage and barked something in a foreign and unfamiliar language. Another voice answered back and Brea had the immediate impression that the second voice was not happy.

Another robot, body colored black, came into view and walked down the rows to stand next to its fellow, bending over with his hands on his knees. Both looked inside the cage and there was a quick exchanging of words, none of it meaning anything to Brea.

The black robot rose and tapped its partner's shoulder, saying something and gesturing vaguely to the cage. Brea decked back inside as the robot past by, disappearing from sight for a moment, before reappearing with what looked like a plastic bag. As it past by her cage to strange next to the other once more, Brea stuck her head back out to view the strange behavior.

The yellow and purple robot looked up to the black one and whined something (Brea had the unexplainable feeling it was whining about something), and the black robot's body emitted a strange revving noise that sounded alarmingly like a growl. The yellow robot opened the cage and reached inside. When the hand pulled back, Brea gasped in horror.

Pinched between two of the robot's fingers like some sort of diseased rodent, was a person, a woman. Her body was limp in the robot's hesitant grasp, being held onto by one ankle while the rest of her dangled unseemly, red hair sprouting from her head. Brea heard the other human spectators all gasp and some of them cried out in shock or anger or lament. She heard some man from below her yell "You fucking bastards!"

Both robots looked up around them at the sudden outcry from the imprisoned. The black robot took a step forward, giving them all a sweeping glare as it yelled at them, "Quiet or you'll _all_ be going in the incinerator!"

Brea didn't know if it was simply the fact that the robot had spoken in English or that its tone had startled them all into obedience, but nevertheless after its threat was made, there was not one sound to be heard from the cages. The yellow and purple robot dropped the dead woman into the plastic bag and twisted it shut.

Brea didn't see exactly what happened next, but a sudden movement caught her eyes and she saw the yellow and purple robot abruptly reach out to his right as something ran past its leg and grabbed at it, dropping the plastic bag that held the deceased woman with a sickening crunch. She realized with a silent gasp that it was a person. It was a young woman, maybe a year younger then Brea perhaps.

Her screams echoed hauntingly in the space and there was muffled gasps and cries from the other humans. The robot got to its feet, both hands clasped around the struggling, human and kicked the door to the cage shut. The black robot turned back around and took the young girl from its companion wordlessly and held her against his chest with one hand.

It turned and spoke again in aloud commanding voice with a kind of metallic accent, "Listen closely _fleshlings_, because I will not be repeating myself. You and your planet are now under Cybertronian rule and **you **are property of the Kaon Trading Company," The robot glanced down at the captive girl, "Any disobedience, any disruptions, any complaints, or any more attempts of escape will result in immediate termination."

Brea's mind screamed in horror, believing the black robot would simply kill the poor girl right there in front of them all for her own attempt at freedom. The young girl had gone limp and docile in the metal giant's grip, small pale hands splayed against the dark cruel metal.

"It will not be _quick_," The robot continued, taking deliberately slow steps down the row of cages, undeniably aware that it now commanded the humans' terror filled attention, "It will not be _pleasant_, and it will be without mercy. Insubordination will not be tolerated in any form. Learn your place."

Brea coward in her cage, hugging her shoulders and shivering with fear, and tears gathered at the edges of her eyes. Her heart seized in her chest as the robot stopped next to her cage and peered inside, eyes glowing intensely. She could see, and hear, the young girl whimpering and sobbing, just a few yards away. The girl looked like she might have been 15, curly strawberry red hair, and freckles on her face. For a moment, their eyes met and Brea was filled with so many emotions it was hard to tell one from another, she felt completely…indescribably scared. The girl's eyes were red and puffy, she'd been crying for a long time, her green eyes had lost all luster and were a dull shade. She looked as though her spirit had been broken. Brea vaguely wondered if that dead woman had been her mother. Her heart lurched as her thoughts trailed to her own mother. But the robot continued before her thoughts could congeal.

"If you are smart and obey unconditionally, no harm will come to you," The robot turned away and continued on past Brea's cage to glare into the others. Then its voice turned soft, almost reassuring, and it added, "You're expensive commodities and it gives us no pleasure to reduce our inventory by even a single unit," Brea watched the robot lift his other hand towards the girl. Her heart froze in anticipation for the horror she was about to witness…but it never came. Instead of crushing the life out of the young girl as she, and possibly the other humans, suspected, the robot ran the crook of one finger gently across the top of the fluffy mess of red hair, almost reassuringly. The girl turned rigid, expecting death at any moment, "We will give you no reason to fear termination," The robot turned and handed the girl to the other robot, unharmed, "If you give us no reason to implement it."

The yellow and purple robot took the girl and walked back down the row to the original cage and placed her inside, shutting the door after her. The yellow and purple robot, a good head shorter then the black one, took a sweeping glance of the 'inventory' and said something to the black robot in the alien language they had been using before.

The Black robot looked them all over too, its lips turning into contemplative frown. "I warn the males now," The black robot added, "All mating attempts will result in castration and any resulting procreation will result in termination."

With that, the two robots left, carrying the water tank and the plastic bag that held the dead woman.

The lights flickered and died. The dark was filled with hopeless sobs.

* * *

In the dark, she absently tugged on the metal collar around her neck, hunger having weakened her considerably. It was hard to muster energy to do much and the fact that there was nothing much to do but wait around and wallow in fear and uncertainty seemed only to drain her further. She resigned herself to lay prone on the cushioned floor, tugging and fingering the metal collar, and quietly humming to herself. She ran songs in her mind and whenever she came to a line of the lyric she couldn't recall, Brea would simply start again until she remembered the song in its entirety. It was successful in momentarily distracting her fidgeting mind from the reality that seemed too far fetch to be real, but whenever she heard a sob, or a muffled whimper, a curse, or a cough, she would return to the present and have to find a way of explaining it to herself. She knew so little about what was happening, but what little she did know picked at her brain and she tried to fill in the gaps. None of it seemed to be leading anywhere positive so she did her best to distract herself from it.

A few hours in the dark made her other senses heighten to their peak, and it made the situation all the more unbearable as the latrines were being put to use. She had one as well. It was nothing more then a low rimmed tank in the back corner of the cage, half the size of her water tank in the front of the cage. During the times of light when the Robots came to inspect them for whatever reason, Brea had the chance to look around her small confined space. It seemed to be a perfect square, as far as she could tell, and it seemed rather spacious compared to how the other humans seemed to be crammed into theirs. She could lay down with her hands and feet extended and they would still be a foot or so away from touching either side of the cage. The cage itself was mostly solid walls of metal with the one wall being open, lined with the vertical bars, her only view to the outside.

She was asleep when it happened. The cage around her buckled and lurched and she cried out as she was jolted awake by the abrupt and terrifying motion. She heard others do the same as their own cages rocked and swayed. There was a long moment of silence in the space where all the humans sat in the cages, listening. They could hear strange scraping and banging sounds, muffled, but audible.

And then all at once, the lights turned on and there was a clamor of foot steps and raised voices yelling out in the alien language. Multiple robots filed past, all of the snarling something at one another. From her cage, Brea watched as a robot stopped and picked up the topmost cage on the row across from her. The humans inside cried out in chorus and as soon as they did, the other caged humans were sent into a panic. Confusion and panic took over and before she new it, everyone was screaming and crying out. The robots snarled and yelled at the humans with little effect in the way that they presumably wished. Instead, it only seemed to make them all the more scared.

Brea scampered to the back of her cage and curled herself into a ball, eyes shut tight. She mumbled wordlessly in her mind, an incoherent babble of 'pleasegodnononopleasedon'tletthemtakemepleaseohgodno'.

Her heart nearly stopped altogether when she felt the ground beneath her lift and rock. She uncurled and splayed her hands on the floor, fingers stretched like a gecko, to find purchase of the swaying cage and she felt herself turn ill when the cage suddenly lurched and dropped. The sudden movement stopped as soon as it began and there was a light click as her cage was placed onto the floor. She looked out just in time to see the faint glimpse of giant feet walk away.

A loud hissing sound of released air pressure made her jump up a few feet and cry out in surprise. The room then became frigidly cold and Brea wrapper her arms around her shoulders against the chill. Beyond the bars, she could see other caged humans, whose confines were on the floor, being picked up by the giant robots. Brain spinning a million miles an hour, Brea's eyes darted around rapidly to try and decipher what was going on. But before she could even reach the bars, her cage lurched again and it slid across the floor as it was pushed away, causing Brea to tumble backwards.

When she looked back up, and after her head stopped spinning, Brea looked out to see several of the large robots wandering around, picked up the cages and walking out of her line of vision. She watched as one robot bent down and picked up a cage and began to walk away with it when an angry voice shouted out at him. The black robot from before stalked up to the one carrying the cage and barked something, pointing in Brea's direction. The robot glanced the way the black robot pointed and then at the cage in its arms, said something, and then walked over. Brea held her breath as the robot neared, and then deposited the cage adjacent to her.

From that angle, Brea could see inside the cage. There were two young women, maybe 19 or 20, sitting in the back clinging to each other.

"Hey!" Brea called out to them. Both girls jerked and looked her way. "Are you guys alright?"

"What's going on?" One of the girls sobbed. "Where are they taking us?"

"I don't know," Brea replied, feeling as hopeless as they sounded. "Did you see anything?"

"They're taking everyone outside," The other girl said, sounding slightly more collected then her friend, "There's a huge ramp and they're taking everyone outside, I don't—"

The girl was cut off a robot approached and dropped yet another cage next to their collective; the cage held only one person and again it was a young woman, possibly 16 or so. Brea's stomach lurched at the realization so far, the ones being set aside were all females. Horrendous and terrifying thoughts about the significance of that fact made her feel ill and her arms grow cold. Two more cages were added, both holding young women. One of the young girls looked no older then 12. She was crying and wringing the hem of her shirt, dirty blonde hair matted and tangled from lack of combing. Brea had no idea how many cages there were altogether before they were moved, but she counted roughly 25 as the robots disappeared from vision, carrying the human filled cages away. The cold grew worse and she shivered while her teeth chatted involuntarily.

There was a long moment where she thought she might freeze to death sitting there. But no sooner did she have the thought that they were moved, again. A robot walked up to the collection of women, pushing what might have been a trolley of some kind in front of him, but it has no wheels. It hovered in the air as if it were magic. The rebellious part of Brea's mind boggled at it, her eyes seeming to attach to the rim of the hover trolley that glowed a bright green. The cages were loaded up one by one, stacked carefully on top of one another.

Brea curled into a ball and wedged herself into a corner, rubbing her arms and trying to keep somewhat warm. The ground lurched once more and there was a sense of movement. Gazing beyond the bars, the space she saw nothing but for who knows how long past by. The space had been some sort of giant room, walls made of metal with crates of unknown content staked neatly in the far corner. There was a sudden dip and her world tilted as the trolley slide down a ramp. From her view, Brea could see the break in the wall where the ramp began and on one side of the break was the dark space.

Although she didn't know it at the time, on the other side of the break in the wall was an entirely other world.

It was freezing, painfully freezing. She saw the other cages that had been unloaded were staked on top of one another with several of the robots standing around, draping green tarps over them. There were other robots, lots of them, all running around doing things. She did have much time to observe them because almost as soon as the trolley slid off the ramp, a tarp was thrown over her cage and everything went dark. As she sat there, the temperature began to rise and she rose from her corner, grateful for the heat. There was more sense of movement as the trolley was pushed along and it lasted for a long while. The sounds changed every once in a while almost like if someone had switched records, like they were going into different rooms maybe. When it finally did stop, they sat there for perhaps a half hour before the tarps were abruptly removed.

The room they were in now was painfully bright. It was a white square room with a large square table in the middle with a silver metal surface. Around the room, built into the walls, were more cages. All of them seemed to be empty. There were more robots. Brea must have been on the bottom of the stacked cages because all she could see of them were their feet.

The two new robots had a short, somewhat heated, conversation with the trolley driver, before there was the sound of an automatic door opening and closing. Brea supposed the trolley driver must have left.

Fear gnawed at her insides as she awaited for whatever was to happen next. However, it was not something she expected.

"What a glitch head," One of the robots muttered in English. Brea perked up and listened.

"It can't be helped," The other replied, "They don't have any experience with organics."

"Why didn't they hire a more _experienced _crew then? Primus, they should have at least brought one of us along to supervise the transport. Swindle told me one of the special orders deactivated during the trip too."

"Sucks for Swindle. Who was the customer?"

"Some debutant from High Towers. Vortex was pretty fritzed about it."

"I would too," The other replied with a laugh. "Anyone from High Tower orders something from you, you slagging well better deliver it. I wouldn't want one of those rich glitches mad at me."

"Not to mention how much credits they lost because of it."

"That too. Frankly, I'm surprised they didn't loose the lot of them. Fragging glitch heads. Organics need _more_ then water to survive."

"Well, let's get them refueled before another keels over and we loose some of _our _cut."

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Author's notes: Thanks to everyone who has faved or added this story to their alert lists. It's greatly appriciated. I've hit a huge writer's block. I want to write and update my stories...but the juices just ain't flowing. And I'm afraid if I try too hard I may break my brain. This update is so late because of an infuriating incident. The document file with this story was corrupt and all the text turned into little boxes and unreadable and unsalvagable jumble. So I had to re-write the chapters.

* * *

Phase Two: Process

Chapter three

"Is it safe do you think?" One young woman said.

"It has to be some sort of trick," said another. "It's probably poisoned."

"I'm so hungry though," The youngest of the group, a twelve year old blonde, said disheartened, "Dieing of poison has to be better then starving."

"Why would they bring us all the way here to just poison us?" reasoned another.

"Because their sick_ twisted _monsters," Said a dark haired woman in her mid twenties with visible disdain. "That's why!"

The two robots that had apparently taken watch over the small group of young women had left the room several minutes prior to parts unknown. Before they departed however, the two had bestowed a surprising gesture of good will to the wary humans; they had lined the cages across the floor in a neat little row and opened the doors. Then, just before leaving, they placed in front of the cages, a water tank and a tough. With the giant metal monsters gone, the frightened humans dared to leave their pens, making a beeline for the containers.

The contents of the trough were now under debate.

Filled to the brim with fruits and vegetables (all looking remarkably fresh and ripe) the humans wracked their brains as logic and primal needs battled inside their minds.

"At this point I'd eat my own shoe," A third woman grumbled, reaching hungrily for a bright a shiny apple that had been teasing her all the while they congregation bickered. She took a large bite from the red flesh and everyone was deathly silent.

The woman hurriedly chewed and swallowed, and then took another. Mouth full of fruit, she said, "It's fine. Eat before they come back."

With the woman's words, the women began grabbing fruits and vegetables and began to scarf the food down hungrily.

From the confines of her cage, Brea watched them eat. She sat in the back, arms wrapped around her knees. Courage had not returned to her and she couldn't bring herself to leave the cage. She didn't want to eat. She wanted to go home. She'd been taken against her will and if they thought she was going to go along with it without protest, they were wrong. She would resist them in anyway she could.

The words of the large black robot who had spoken to them before rang in her ears still.

_If you are smart and obey unconditionally, no harm will come to you._

Those words haunted her and she could not keep her mind from repeating them. They stewed in her head.

"Hey girl! Are you going to eat?" Brea shook her head to clear her thoughts before turning to the group of women hunched over the trough to see one woman looking back at her. "Better eat before they come back."

Brea didn't answer her and just lowered her forehead to touch her knees. She had decided fairly earlier on, the only form of protest she could think of that would potentially end without her getting killed would be a peaceful one.

She decided to take inspiration from Gandhi. She would not eat.

Brea felt her stomach rumble and she breathed out in a sigh like moan. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

She couldn't remember her dreams, but she knew from the cold sweat that coated her and the light tremor in her hands that they must not have been pleasant. Perhaps it was a blessing that she did not remember them. There was a lingering knot in her stomach and she found that her limbs seemed to weigh twice as much as she remembered.

Awareness came to her abruptly when there was sudden pressure against her back and she found herself forced into a sitting position. A wave of gray was suddenly pushed into her vision and she only barely noticed the snub of bright red pinched between the impossibly large digits of the giant's hand. Her eyes blearily drifted up to see the gray giant looking down at her while the white stood to the side, observing.

"Here, you need to refuel. Take it," the giant coaxed, bringing the red object closer to her and her slow mind automatically supplied the label; apple. Large, red, and very…delicious looking.

She had resisted the offered food three times now. The others all rushed for the tough whenever it was laid out and they were released to eat, but not her. She kept reminding herself of her commitment. Every time she smelled the fruit, she felt like her will would break, but somehow she held on. But for how much longer, she wasn't sure. The apple that danced in front of her seemed too appetizing…had she the energy to do so, she was certain she would grab the damn thing and devour it. Her body screamed for food while it reprimanded any sort of movement; a frustrating contradiction. She tried to lift her arm, but found it as heavy as lead and it flopped back down at her side uselessly.

The giant made a growling sounding and Brea flinched, pressing against the hand as if somehow it would shield her from any outbursts of anger, momentarily forgetting the hand was _part_ of the robot. "Frag…"

"What?"

"It won't take the fuel," The giant grumbled. "It's too weak. Organics don't go into stasis lock do they?"

A thoughtfully pause.

"Kind of, but there's more of a chance it'll deactivate if it does," The other giant replied, sounding concerned, "Gimme a tic, I think I got an idea."

There was the sound of metal shuffling and clinks for a few minutes and all the while, Brea sat against the gray hand, her blurry vision slowly regaining clarity. Through the wariness and fear that clouded her mind, she was aware that she was not in her prison; rather she was on the table at the room's center. She could even see the small figures of the other humans, watching from their cages.

She flinched when the giant's hand returned. Except this time, instead of holding an apple delicately between his far too large digits, one of the finger tips had opened and something that resembled a pair of tweezers stuck out, half an apple held carefully between the tongs. It encroached upon her space and she tried to shy away from it. As it drew nearer to her mouth, something in her mind clicked and control seemed to switch from logic to primal instinct. She leaned forward and bit into the apple. As soon as she had a hold of it, the tweezers retreated back into the giant's digit and the hand pulled away. It took her barely a minute to actually finish off the apple half, seeds and all. When it was gone, the tweezer-fingers returned and offered her the second half. She reached out and took the fruit, practically inhaling it.

From above her, she heard the robots laugh in victory.

"Leadline, you're a genius," The robot who held her said.

"It's a simple observation," The other robot, Leadline, replied modestly. "Primitive organic programming will take over sooner or later. It just needed a jump start is all."

Brea swallowed the last bit of fruit and began to blink against the sting of tears. Warm liquid dripped down her face and muffled whimper escaped her. She head one of the robots give off a startled rumble.

"What's wrong?"

"It's leaking!"

"Huh?"

"The fragging organic's _leaking_!"

* * *

Their names, she learned through their conversations, were Leadline and Tightwire. Both were fairly careful with the them, but Brea noticed Tightwire was much more prone to aggression then Leadline, who seemed to be more of a pacifist in that he was much more patient. Most often, Leadline was the one who calmed Tightwire down from his bouts of anger. Brea decided to use this to her advantage.

She had to be force fed several more times when she continued to refuse to eat, but each time she gave into the food. She couldn't keep herself from refusing it, time after time. Whenever she gave into them, she would cry…or 'leak' as the two robots called it. The act of crying seemed to disquiet the robots, apparently fearing that it meant something was wrong with them, but eventually they caught on to the truth and it lost most if not all effectiveness.

So Brea decided to change tactics.

When the humans were released from their cages to eat, Brea made good use of the time. Instead of making a beeline for the food, she took the short period of freedom to explore the grounds. She found what she was looking for almost immediately. The room was small in ratio to the robots, but had plenty of small crevices in between shelves and tables that occupied the small space. Brea wedged herself between the bulk of a shelf and the wall, and waited. In the far reaches of her mind, she wondered just how she was planning on getting out of the room without being seen, but she didn't have much time to fabricate one.

Her stomach curled itself into a knot as she watched the robots enter the room. All the women had gathered together in a little group (mostly out of fear of the robots rather than their convenience) and Brea silently hoped that if one of them had seen her, they wouldn't rat her out. Leadline crouched down in front of the girls and Brea could only guess that he was counting them.

And sure enough…

"One's missing," Leadline said, sounding startled.

Tightwire had been gathering up the tough and water tank. He snapped his head around to stare at his partner before glaring at the group of women. There was a noticeable flinch among them as they stared wide eyed and frightened at the metal giants, no doubt their minds providing them with horrifying scenarios of what would happen to them.

"Which one?" Tightwire growled, depositing the tough and tank atop the table before tuning to face Leadline.

"The Emirate's," Leadline said, voice heavy and ominous as he started putting the other humans into their respective cages.

Tightwire snarled and banged his fist against the table top. "That little worm has been nothing but a glitch in my processor. I say let's just slag it and just give him one from the next shipment."

Brea suddenly regretted her half-hearted escape and began to feel ill. What if she was caught? Would they really kill her? Oh god what was she doing…what was she thinking!?

"No," Leadline said more calmly, "The orders are late enough as it is. The customers are beginning to complain. I don't know about you, but I certainly don't want Xeon fritzed at me. He ordered the organic, so he can take care of the training. All we do is process 'em."

"Well let's find the little glitch first," Tightwire growled in submission to Leadline's logic and then muttered, "_Primus_. When this is over, I'm overcharging till my systems short-circuit."

Leadline laughed, "I hear ya, buddy."

Tightwire began looking around the room with sweeping glances, slowly narrowing his search as he went. Leadline seemed to have finished putting the humans back into their cages as she saw him join in the search. Brea pressed herself against the wall, hoping they wouldn't find her, or if they did, that they wouldn't kill her. She slid down to sit on the floor, the pressure at her back being one of comfort as well as hindrance.

Oh god, why did she have to do this? Why didn't she think this through? They were going to kill her, she knew it. If Leadline didn't then Tightwire certainly would.

Her breathing became more rampant and her chest heaved as it struggled to fill her lungs. As the panic attack reached full bloom, Brea's mind became a muddled mess. Thoughts congealed and it was hard to make sense of it all. She saw her life flash before her eyes and she wondered where her family was, if they were alright. She wondered if they would remember her or ever know what happened to her.

"Ah-hah!"

Brea jerked and looked up to see Tightwire glaring down through the gap above her.

"Well, well, _well_. Look what I found."

Brea stiffened, as her heart pulsed rapidly in her chest. She curled into a ball and closed her eyes. She felt the shelf beside her jerk away with a screech of metal on metal. There was a quiet pause during which Brea was certain Tightwire's gray hands were looming over her, fingers poised to crush the life out of her for her disobedience. Thick, hard, metal digits brushed the sides of her arms and she jerked away, crying out.

"Oh _hush_," Tightwire snapped. Brea tried to push the fingers away but as she lifted her arms, the hand grabbed her. Her breath escaped her in a gasp and she was roughly lifted into the air. Hands pressed against the metal, as she tried her level best not to be sick. Cold laughter assaulted her ears and she cringed at the noise. "What do we have here? A little fugitive who thought it could escape? _Cute_…"

Brea's limbs trembled as she dangled helplessly from the giant's fist. Her world spun and moved and she regretted opening her eyes when she saw just how far up she was while at the same time thoroughly aware that she was completely at the mercy of the maniacal robot. She was convinced she was about to have a fatal meeting with the floor at any moment.

As she feared, the fist suddenly released her and for a heart stopping moment, she thought she would fall to her death, but before she could even scream, her feet made contact with a hard surface and she crumbled under her own weight. A moment's pause revealed that she was on the table, not the floor. Both Tightwire and Leadline were watching her with disconcerting glares like a mother stared down a misbehaving toddler…only more severely and far more frighteningly. Tightwire slammed his palms onto the table on either side of Brea, causing her already panicked heart to practically leap out of her throat.

"You're a lot of trouble in a small package," Tightwire said, clearly unamused. "We need to fix that."

Leadline glanced at his partner.

"Tightwire, I _told _you, we just—"

"—_Process _'em, yeah, yeah. I know. But there's no way in the _pit_ that I'm gonna be frying my circuits for the next quarter orn over some squishy who hasn't learned it's place," Tightwire growled, not even turning to face the other robot. His mouth quirked into an evil grin and his eyes glowed ominously as he stared at the cowering human girl before him and said, "Xeon can consider this a free service; a complimentary _gift_ for his patronage."


	4. Chapter 4

As I write this story, all I can think is "Poor Brea!" Then I remember this story is supposed to be dark, and it's not surprising if you've ever read the work of fiction which inspired this. If you're at all curious to read the fic that fueled this, go to yahoo and type in TF mirrorverse. Once you get to the site go to the FICTION section and look for the story called _His Master's Voice. _I seriously cannot get enough of that story. Man, I'm so twisted. lol. And no, Mirrorverse existed LONG before Botcon ever came up with the shattered glass theme. I'm not sure if Botcon came up with the idea without any knowledge of Mirrorverse or not. Either way they're both wickely awesome! But just to let you know, nothing in _His Master's Voice _will lead to any spoilers for this story. They're both dark and twisted, but not parallels. So go enjoy!

* * *

_She reached up to touch her neck, fingers brushing the smooth scar tissue there. Even after all the time that had past, the scars still lingered. She didn't believe they would ever go. She gazed out of the large window, watching as the various crafts zoomed by as though there was nothing wrong with the world. The skyline was full of the towering structures, a few of them she had actually been in. The city was indeed beautiful to the naked and unknowing eye. But to the more 'educated', the city was ugly and scarred, wretched and evil. She wanted nothing more then to leave its boundaries and never return, to never set eyes on the damn place again. _

Phase Two: Process

Chapter Four

There were endless possibilities of what Tightwire could have done to her as punishment for her defiance. Quite a few that came to Brea's mind would most certainly end in death; something that was evidently not the result they desired. Others would leave her severely maimed or damaged; again, something the two robots seemed to wish avoiding.

So as to what that left behind, Brea had no idea. And it made waiting for it all the worse.

The robots simply left her on the table, to await her fate while they disappeared to _only God knew_ where. The other humans watched from their cages, none of them uttering a word; to her or to each other. She felt a sting of betrayal towards them. They offered her no comforting words or anything. They just sat there and gawked like…like caged animals.

The silence was deafening.

Brea was sitting in the middle of the table, studying the metal table top and staring at her opaque reflection in its scuffed and scratched surface, when the two robots returned. At the sound of the doors opening, Brea's already frazzled nerves caused her to nearly jump right out of her skin. She clawed at the table top as she pulled herself backwards in a crude crab-walk away from the approaching giants, her eyes transfixed upon the boxes they held.

Was that her punishment in there? Her entire body felt numb and yet she could feel every pulse of her heart and every throb of her veins and arteries. She felt her chest heave in every breath, trying to take in as much air as she could, fearing that they would be her last.

The side of Tightwire's mouth turned upwards in a grim smile as he slammed his box onto the table, purposefully creating the resoundingly loud _KLANG_ to startle the small human. Brea's ears rang with reverberation and every part of her body felt like lead and the weight of the situation pulled down on her.

Leadline put down his box, but did not seek to further frighten her. In fact, he seemed to be more indifferent to the whole thing.

"We start with this one," Tightwire said, opening the box and reaching inside.

"Very well," Leadline said, opening his own box and extracting a large metal ring with small circles of metal hanging off of it like keys. "What is its serial number?"

Brea had barely a moment's awareness before Tightwire grabbed her, pinning her arms to her side. She screamed and kicked and thrashed as much as the metal hand allowed her. She faintly heard the dangerous rumble of the robot before the fingers laced around her constricted, cutting off her scream while the rest of her breath escaped her as a startled squeak. She became instantly docile, but the hand did not let up and she struggled to fill her lungs. Her vision blurred and her head spun.

She felt cold metal on either side of her head and a sudden fear that the robot was going to crush her head in swept over her. The fingers gently pressed against her head and pulled back, exposing her neck. They're eyes met as Tightwire glared down at her.

There was a terrifying moment of silence.

"2-2- Beta740-100," Tightwire grunted. The meaning behind the strange series of number was meaningless to her, but they echoed in her mind as he stated it. He released her head, but kept a firm grip on her body. She shook away the blurriness creeping up in her eyes.

Leadline sorted through the collection of metal circles and chose one, slipping it off the ring before setting it aside and reaching back into the box. He pulled out what looked like a soldering gun. "Hold it still, I don't want to accidentally kill it."

Brea suddenly found her head pulled back again, her neck exposed to the approaching clippers. She panicked. Wiggling ineffectively against her captor, she whimpered and cried, trying to somehow stop it.

She felt a cold metal slip under the metal collar around her neck and lift it up away from her skin. Then there was intense heat as the tip of the soldering gun closed in and touched the metal. Sizzling hisses and pops were all Brea could hear beyond the thumping of her heart. She winced and whimpered as she felt sharp pain on the skin of her neck with the soldering gun's heat so close. She screamed when the pain intensified and she felt tears stream down her face.

The collar, ends bright red from the soldering gun, fell off the pole holding the burning hot metal up.

Brea's mind went white as the burning, agonizing hot metal seared the delicate skin and her body seized.

She screamed and thrashed.

"Frag!" Leadline dropped his tool and quickly reached out to pull the hot metal from the human's neck, tossing it to the side with a curse.

The pain lingered even after the metal collar was removed and Brea cried and screamed, kicking her legs as if somehow she could kick the pain away with her foot.

"Hold it still," Leadline said tersely, "I'll be right back."

"You damaged it!" Tightwire growled. "It's worthless now!"

"Just mute your vocalizer," Leadline's voice snapped. "I can fix it; just keep it from moving its neck."

The few minutes it took for Leadline to return seemed like endless torture to Brea. The pain was like nothing she had ever experienced and her breathing became painful. Every gulp of air agitated the marred skin, sending bolts of pain through her. She began to cry.

When Leadline did return, he ordered Tightwire to hold her absolutely still.

Blessedly cool liquid was poured on her neck, drenching her clothes. It caused a sharp pain, but the coolness was bliss against the blistering heat. She cried out again as something soft, like a towel, touched the skin, drying the water. The course fabric brought new pain and she nearly bite through her lip trying to keep herself from screaming and she could taste her own tears. Then soft gauze like material touched her skin and she opened her eyes to see Leadline wrapping a thin piece of white fabric around her wounded neck. He even told Tightwire to pull her hair away so it wouldn't get in the way.

Finally, Tightwire released his grip on her head and Brea carefully pulled her head up, her skin thoroughly resentful of the movement.

"Will it scar?" Tightwire asked; his voice taut and restrained.

"We will have to wait for it to heal," Leadline replied ruefully, "Most likely though, it will result in scarring."

"Frag it! Now we have to refund _another_ order?"

Brea didn't struggle against Leadline when he reached over and picked her up, careful not to jar her and cause further injury or pain. He carried her to her cage and sat her inside. She sat perfectly still and sobbed, still in too much shock.

"We will contact Emirate Xeon," Leadline replied, far more collected then his partner, as he closed the cage door shut. "He will decide whether he wants to keep this one or order a replacement."

"What happens if he wants a new one?" Tightwire asked. "Do we drop its Grade from Top to Secondary and send it to the breeding facility?"

"No," Leadline said simply, "Policy states whenever there is a drop it value, due to injury or wear, the organic in question shall be neutralized."

* * *

Sleep was scarce over the next several days.

The pain in her neck drove it away until it was nothing but a hopeful afterthought. The gauze like bandages were soft, but after a while, they only added to the pain. She tried to remove them a several times and each time, either one of the robot overseers had to keep her from pulling it off.

For most of the time, she lay submissively in her cage atop the padded floor, trying not to agitate the scars and praying they would heal soon. Sleep deprivation left her immobile after a while and she had to be hand fed once more, much to Tightwire's annoyance.

Her bandages would be changed every so often and the wounds cleanse with cold water. Leadline, thankfully, did the first air treatment. The other humans, one by one, were all removed from their cages and re-tagged, just as had been attempted with Brea before the accident. They all screamed and resisted as best they could, probably fearing they too would be burnt. However, the tww robots seemed to have learned from their 'mishap' and none of the other girls were hurt in the process.

Brea had been laying in her 'bed' in a failing attempt at sleep when she heard a tapping sound. She opened her eyes to find Tightwire glaring down at her. Brea was so accustomed to it by now, she merely stared back.

"I hope this little experience had taught you where your proper place is," he smirked. "Of course it doesn't do you any good now. You'll be heading off to the compound to be neutralized within the next seven joors."

She had heard them discuss it before, being sent off to be neutralized, but they had always said it was up to some other guy to decide, whoever had ordered her. Had the decision been made already? Was she to die because of the burns on her neck? She hadn't done anything wrong!

Brea's eyes stung with tears and she sniffed as the warm liquid streamed down her face. Her body shivered and she coughed a sob, convulsively swallowing against the combined discomfort that came with crying and the somewhat dulled pain in her neck.

Tightwire's smile widened at her tears, only prompting more from the distraught girl.

* * *

"I do not care," a shrill voice said, starting Brea out of the so sought after sleep. Her eyes lids felt heavy and no amount of coaxing could bring the bliss of slumber back.

She listened.

"I assure you, Lady Viral," Leadline's voice said, "A replacement has been ordered for no extra charge. We are so sorry for the inconvenience this has caused you."

"I should hope so," the shrill voice replied. "I expected much better from the Kaon Trading Company. Perhaps it would have been better if I had gone through the Iacon Exchange Depot."

"I doubt it," Tightwire replied. "Those in Iacon and northern territory do not share the same philosophy as us. They would never seek this kind of investment. In fact, we have a confidentiality agreement for you to sign before you leave."

"Confidentiality agreement? What for?"

"To secure our business interests. The northern territories would never approve of these transactions and the agreements merely protect us against any suits. We ask our customers to keep all information regarding these transactions confidential. We do not need the attention of the coalition or Senate investigating our company."

"Are you saying this is _illegal_?"

"Certainly not," Leadline replied. "All I am saying is that we do not need overly sympathetic Mechs sticking their scanners where they do not belong and turning harmless business ventures into some legal or moral issue. It is undoubtedly certain they would attempt make the trade illegal."

"Such fools!" The one called Viral said. "And you're all doing this to save the poor things too, isn't that right?"

"Yes," Leadline replied. "Our explorers have dubbed their planet unstable. Apparently it is going through some sort of geological change. It was dubbed necessary to remove the organics in order to keep them from extinction. It would be a pity to see such a unique race die out."

"How true," Viral cooed.

Brea opened her eyes and looked out of her cage to see what appeared to be a...girl-robot? She was colored a muted shade of magenta, metal horn-like things sticking out of her head. In her arms, Brea realized with a start, was one of the girls. It was the red haired girl from the ship, the one who tried to escape. She looked absolutely terrified in the robot's hands.

Brea watched with disgust as the magenta robot petted the distraught girl's head with the tips of her metal fingers, seemingly unaware of her 'pet's' distress and tears.

"And what is it I hear about refineries there?" Viral asked.

"The planet's geological changes are exerting extreme amount of energy," Leadline replied. "The refineries will collect that energy and it will be transported back here to aid in the energy crisis."

"Finally," Viral said, "Competent Mechs who are dealing with the problem logically. Why are those idiots in Iacon so slow to come up with solutions to our problems?"

"That is the age old question, now isn't it?"

* * *

One by one, robots came and claimed the human women. Each would have a short conversation with Tightwire and Leadline before leaving with their new human pets. All the conversations seemed to follow the same template as Viral's, repeating the same information. Each one made Brea all the angrier.

Geological changes? Brea couldn't believe what she was hearing. There were no 'geological changes' that were threatening the human race! It was a lie! A ploy! And what did they mean by energy crisis? What energy crisis?

_You'll be heading off to the compound to be neutralized within the next seven joors._

No.

It wasn't fair. She didn't do anything wrong! _They_ had scarred her! If anyone was to die, it should be _them_!

No…no.

When the last human was claimed, leaving Brea all alone, the world seemed to grow small and she could swear she could feel her life thread being snipped at. Any moment, she would be carried off somewhere to meet her maker. She would die away from her home, her family, and everything she knew.

Brea sat in the corner of her cage, staring out into the white room. She missed color. She missed familiar smells. She missed people. Fear had replaced everything and now she lived by it. However much longer that would be. She didn't even realize she was crying until she raised a hand to her face to itch her eye and found moisture. She was not religious, nor did she claim to be. But she prayed. She'd never gone to church so she was fairly certain she had done it all wrong, but she didn't care. She hoped her love would reach her family wherever they were and she prayed her friends were safe.

'Please protect us,' she thought to whoever might be listening. 'We need someone to protect us…'

_You'll be heading off to the compound to be neutralized within the next seven joors._

Joors. What an odd name for a unit of time. The terms the robots used were so strange. She wished she knew how long a joor was. She wished she knew a lot of things. Like…

Why?

Brea was surprised she didn't jump when the doors opened and Tightwire and Leadline entered…followed by another robot.

He was taller then the other two. His face was silver with a black helm encasing his head. A cape of some kind made of mail, draped over his broad shoulders. His forearms were purple with black hands and feet. He held himself very regally and the way in which Tightwire and Leadline spoke, she assumed her very well might be.

"I am very sorry this has happened, my lord," Leadline said, "It was bad judgment on my part and we are willing to provide a replacement for no extra charge."

"And what exactly is wrong with it?" The black and purple robot's voice was deep and resounding.

"It's scarred, sir," Tightwire explained, "Around the neck. As Leadline said, we are more then willing to—"

"Let me see."

Brea didn't even move when Leadline came over to her cage and began to open it.

The new robot approached the now open cage and Brea stiffened as large black hands loomed in front of her. She stifled a sob when the fingers daftly gripped her and lifted her up and out, holding her in one cupped hand.

She gasped when a black finger swooped in under her chin and lifted her head up to allow the robot to peer at the still healing scars, the bandages having been removed some hours ago. Brea couldn't keep herself from shivering. She had an unfounded notion that at the sight of her scars, this new robot would crush her or drop her or a number of other unpleasant things. She sobbed. The giant metal robot's red eyes shifted to her and glowed bright for a moment. The finger retreated and Brea pulled her head back into its normal position, the marred skin protesting the movement.

She was about to die. She knew it. Those eyes…red as blood…they glowed. Somehow she was convinced that meant he was going to kill her, and probably take pleasure in it.

"Do not bother sending out for a replacement," the robot said. Brea flinched when she felt the metal tip of a finger brush her shoulder, almost comfortingly. "This one is acceptable."

Brea blinked in astonishment. _What?_

Tightwire gapped. "What? Sir, she is damaged and—"

"Superficial damage. Aesthetics," He replied nonchalantly, "In any case, a suitable collar will cover the marks up."

"Ah…yes sir."

"Well then, Lord Xeon, we will proceed with the documentation," Leadline said, "If you would please wait here, we will go fetch everything."

Brea didn't see the two others leave, but she heard the door open and close. She made herself as small as possible in the metal hand and she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed.

So…she wasn't going to die?

The robot walked up to the table and gently sat her down atop the surface where she immediately sat down, not trusting her legs to support her.

"What is your name?" The robot asked abruptly.

Brea snapped her head up to look into the robot's face that peered down at her, red eyes staring and making her insides squirm. She opened her mouth, but her words lodged themselves in her throat.

"Can you not speak?" He asked sternly, eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you understand me?"

Brea nodded hastily.

"You _do_ understand."

Again, she nodded.

"Good," he said, "I was beginning to think that perhaps the language file had been corrupt. Now, I'll ask you again, what is your name?"

She rallied herself, forcing her voice out, "…B-brea."

"Brea?"

She nodded.

The robot seemed to ponder that for a moment. Finally he nodded, "Acceptable. You may keep your given name."

Brea had no idea what he meant by that, but she was far too concerned with the present, then little bits of trivia.

She looked up at him and she began to feel the sting of tears encroaching. Even though he was still looking at her, she still cleared her throat and asked, "Um…excuse me. S-so…does this m-mean…I'm not going to be…" She staggered on the word, finding it hard to pronounce the dreadful word and deciding to change it, thinking it would be somehow easier to say. "…neutralized?"

The robot seemed to consider her for a moment and the silence sent new panic racing through her. Her palms were sweaty and she insides had tied themselves into such tight knots she wasn't sure if they'd ever come undone.

"No," He said simply, reaching out to stroke her shoulder. "You will not be neutralized."

Brea let loose the breath she'd been holding all at once in a gutsy sigh. A swell of tears overtook her and pour down her cheeks. She turned and leaned against the metal hand, sobbing into it.

"T-thank you…"


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's notes:** The Inspiration bug has bitten me! I got pumped out two chapters yesterday! Woot! I'll be going over them of course to fine tune everything, but it seems as though my odd bout with writers block has ended, at least for this story. I still plan on finishing all my current stories (_Collateral Damage_ and _Small Favors_), but they will simply be placed on the back burners for the moment. I'm sure we've all had times where plot bunnies have taken over your mind and will not let go. I wonder if there's a medication of plot bunny disease. Anyway, I decided to post this chapter. I'm not entirely happy with the character interaction in this chapter. I just feel like it could be better. Anyway, thank you for all the reviews and favs and alerts! You're support and enthusiasm is greatly appriciated!

Phase Three: Assimilation

Chapter Five

* * *

The room was far larger then the little white room that had been her home for what seemed like an eternity. The floors and walls were made of a light colored metal and situated around the room were several large structures that looked startlingly like bookcases.

_Do robot even have books?_ She wondered. What occupied the shelves looked more like think metal slabs, neatly placed into rows and filling up most of the space. There must have been several hundred all together.

The room itself was separated into two levels. The left side of the room was elevated while the right side was a step down. The floor on the right side of the room was black and occupying the farthest wall to that side was an enormous window situated behind a large metal desk. The alien world beyond the glass glowed and blinked, zoomed and hummed. Towering buildings of monstrous heights dominated the skyline and little objects that looked like flies zoomed around the airspace.

Brea marveled at the window for a long moment, but her attention was commandeered when her transportation turned to the left, stepping up onto the raised side of the room. Two 'bookcases' stared off from either side and a cabinet-looking thing leaned against the wall between them. Situated between the wall and the bookcase…was a cage.

Brea's heart sank at the sight of it.

It was a little bigger then her old one and it looked much more…expensive. It looked as though it were made from gold, constructed of thin wires of the gilded metal as thick as her wrist. There was a solid strip of yellow metal lining the base of the cage, the top of which came up to just over Brea's waist. It didn't look like it was really meant to keep anything in, but was meant for mere decoration. Inside, she could see a thick padded cushion as large as a queen sized bed as well as two containers; one filled with water and the other with food. To the side of the cage was a tall rectangular box and inside was a conspicuously odd round little container.

The black and purple robot bent low and gently placed Brea on her feet. She turned to look up at him, her insides turning nervously at having such a large robot crouching so near and yet still managing to loom above her as if he her standing. With all that metal hanging above her head, she couldn't suppress the irrational fear that he may suddenly decide to squish her.

As she stared up at him, he stared down at her, ruby eyes never wavering.

His name was Xeon. And he _owned_ her.

After leaving the facility that had held her for _God knows how long_, Xeon had taken her to his 'vehicle'. The trip to said 'vehicle' had been terrifying for Brea. She had no idea what lay beyond the doors as they paste through them, one after the other, but her fear had vanished abruptly when they left the building completely and she was exposed the raw alien air. Brea had forgotten the bone chilling coldness of the outside world and she shivered in Xeon's hands. In a surprising gesture of kindness, he covered her with his other hand to shield her further from the cold air's chilly bite. The cold vanished when they entered his transport, which Brea had labeled as an 'alien limo' because of its odd shape. It was during the ride from the facility to Xeon's residence that he explained her circumstances in two simple sentences which he told her never to forget: His name was Xeon. And he _owned_ her.

"This will be your living space," Xeon explained, indicating the cage, his tone level and straightforward. "You will recharge and refuel here," He then gestured to the rectangular box, "And this is your waste disposal unit. Drones have been programmed to clean it out every four joors."

Brea felt oddly mortified and she mentally moaned and then tried to consol herself that this was, in fact, an upgrade from her previous arrangement. '_Well…it's better then just a box_. _I wonder if he'd let me put up a curtain or something…_'

"You are free to roam around the room as you please," Xeon explained, "But recall that this is my personal office and you are forbidden to disturb any object in this room I have not given you permission to touch. Especially these," He gestured to the book cases, all of them filled with thin metal panels, "Do you understand me, little Brea?"

Brea nodded. "Y-yes sir."

"Very good." Xeon stood back to his full height and without any other instructions, turned and walked away towards the large desk. He pulled back the chair and sat down. She watched for a moment while the larger being went about…whatever it was he was doing. He pulled open a drawer in his desk and extracted a small chip like thing, inserting it into a slit on a sort of control panel looking thing that was situated on his right. Brea watched with fascination as a screen popped into existence in front of Xeon like a monitor…only holographic instead of physical. Another moment of watching lead to no new discoveries and a feeling of awkwardness seemed to settle over her. Brea stood next to the gilded cage, not quiet sure what to do wit herself.

She looked inside at her new abode and felt a deep depression settle in at the sight.

'_It's the same_,' she thought gloomily. '_It may be shiny and cleaner…but it's still a cage_.'

She took a few tentative steps inside, her eyes focused on the water and food containers. Taking up an apple from the mound of assorted fruit, Brea rubbed her thumb across the red flesh and marveled at the absence of the greasy coating associated with store bought fruit. She took an absorbing glance around the cage's interior before putting the apple back into the container, suddenly not feeling as hungry as she thought.

Brea took long sips from the water tank before making her way over to the large red cushion that she assumed was her new bed. The prospect of a soft bed caused the fatigue that had been seemingly ever-present since leaving the transport ship to become more evident. Allowing the stress and fear of the past events to subside, Brea carefully lowered herself onto the edge of the cushion and laid back. Her stiff neck eased and her shoulders relaxed as her tired body met the soft pad. She pulled her legs onto the cushion and laid her limbs out. It was essentially a very large bean bag, but whatever it was stuffed with was defiantly not the same as a bean bag. It was softer and a vast improvement from the padded cell she had before and even more so then the cold metal floor before that.

It didn't take long for her to drift off to sleep.

* * *

When she jerked awake, Xeon was not at his desk. The lights were still on, but dimmed somewhat.

She wasn't sure what exactly had woken her up.

Glancing around to confirm her new master was indeed absent, Brea took in her surroundings. She didn't see anything, so she carefully slid off the sleeping cushion and onto the metal cage floor. She glanced around and something caught her eye that she had neglected to notice before; in the corner, wedged between the food container and cage wall, was a pile of cloth. Curious, Brea crouched down next to the container, holding onto the rim, and reached out to pick the pile up. It was soft and light at the touch. It reminded her of the sheets on her bed.

She settled back down onto the cushion and was confused when the cloth unfolded to reveal…a dress? It was a standard cut out of a dress, sleeveless, and Brea couldn't help but stare at the thing…flabbergasted.

"O-o-okay…" She drawled, eyeing the article of clothing dubiously "Is it too weird to assume this is for me?"

She glanced at her own clothing that clung to her body; her jeans and shirt were tattered and filthy, smelling of ammonia and body odor. And they _itched_.

She glanced down at the dress in her hands; clean, soft, and smelling of nothing unpleasant.

Without a second thought, she stripped down to her under things, kicking her old dirty clothes to the side and slipped into the dress, the cool, clean fabric feeling heavenly against her skin. She noticed part of her bra showed above the arm holes, but she shrugged the observation off. The dress was slightly baggy, but Brea was enjoying the clean clothing far too much to give it any mind. She looked down at herself, studying the way the dress swayed around her legs and noted that the hem of the garment ended mid-shin. It was a modest length with plenty of room. Comfortable.

Something in her mind told her she shouldn't be happy about having a new dress; that she should be distraught and inconsolable, but given her experiences up to that point, she allowed herself to feel a sense of happiness; a feeling that seemed to be far too scarce as of late.

She walked over to the water container and peered in. Even in the dimmed lighting, she could see her reflection in the small pool of water. Her hair clung to her head in messy tangles and she grimaced at the state of her locks. She raised her hand to grope the snarled mess and spent several minutes pulling at the bird's nest, plucking at tangles and trying to straighten out the disarray of hair. When she was somewhat happy, she dipped her hands into the water and wetted her hair down, thinking she would look a little more…civilized that way. She wished she could take a bath or a shower; images of scented soaps, luxurious shampoos and conditioners, and scrubs filling her mind.

She dared to hope that her new master might oblige.

Brea paused in her hair ministrations, looking down at her reflection.

Her new master.

She frowned.

She didn't like the sound of it. In fact, she hated it. She was a _free_ person, what right did these…_machines_ have to take her from her home and do this to her? To all those people?

True, he had not told her to call him master (yet) but still it weighed on her mind.

She glared down into the water and raised her hand to gently brush the scars on her neck, her touch being met with only the faintest of discomfort.

Another thought came to her and her frown disappeared.

He could have discarded her, though; the way Tightwire had said. The burns on her neck were apparently enough to have her killed because of simple aesthetics. Apparently she was…damaged goods.

But he had kept her nevertheless. So far, he had been nice to her. Well…he hadn't yelled or threatened her. Maybe this Xeon would be a nice Master. Maybe this life wouldn't be as bad as she was imagining it. So far, she was alright. She had food and water, a bed, a toilet…thing.

She was…alright. Despite all that had happened, she was alright.

Brea didn't know what to expect in the days to come, but she hoped they wouldn't be as bad as they previous ones had been.

* * *

The door to her cage was closed. She didn't remember it being closed…

She reasoned that Xeon must have closed it before he left. Brea couldn't imagine this room also served as his living quarters. No, he had called this his personal office. Did that mean she was in his house or something? Was this simply one room of many? Brea couldn't imagine what a robot's house would look like and her mind boggled when she tried to imagine how large it must be.

Reaching out to touch the metal bars of her cage which were cool to the touch, Brea chewed on her bottom lip. There was no lock as far as she could tell. It was a simple fastener and latch; one that she was more then capable of _un-_latching. Slipping her hands through the bars, she reached around to grab the fastener's handle and lifted. It was heavier then she thought it would be and she had to set it back down before attempting the maneuver again. The awkwardness of the angle at which she was attempting this made the feat all the more difficult. She tried approaching it from another angle, but the result was the same. Every time she tried, the facet would come mere inches from the brim of the latch before her energy would drain and she was forced to let it drop back in place.

She slumped back onto her bed, panting.

"Why does everything here have to be so _big_?" She muttered uncharitably. "They need to…I dunno…start making giant robots _smaller_…"

After she caught her breath, she sat up and approached the latch and facet with new resolve. Grabbing hold of the handle, Brea put all her strength into lifting the absurdly heavy thing. Her arms began to burn and her hands and fingers were assaulted with sharp stings of pain as she pushed her weight into lifting the facet over the latch…

The facet dropped from her trembling hands and smacked into the cage door's hinge with a loud _klank_. Brea shook her hands in a vain attempt to flick the pain away and allowed herself a victorious smile.

"Ha ha!" She cheered, "I win!"

She continued to chant her victory cry and she pushed the door aside and stepped out. As soon as her bare feet touched the cold floor, inexplicably, Brea fell silent and her hands drooped to her sides. Something seemed to have washed over her, like as if something had struck her in her mind. It wasn't a thought…or a feeling…more like…a realization. Something deep down inside her was telling her something was odd…something was wrong.

Something in the air…just didn't feel right. Her arms tingled strangely and there was a ringing in the air, just below her normal range of hearing. Beyond the sounds of mechanical movements somewhere beyond the room, of which had become perpetual background noise, she could hear the barest shuffling and clicks. It was so faint that Brea wasn't sure if it was real or her mind was making it up. Cautiously, she moved away from her cage door and further into the room, her ears peaked to listening to any more noise.

"Hello?" Brea called. She stood at the edge of the drop that split the room and listened. Nothing. But the ringing was still there, along with faint static that seemed to cling to the very air particles. Lowering herself to sit on the edge, she pushed off and landed on the bottom floor. Straightening herself, she noticed the ringing seemed to have changed tones, but was still there. Looking up, she caught sight of the large window.

She stared at the bright light beyond the expansive glass and something off to her left caught her eye, a flicker of motion. Heart racing now, Brea stared towards the left side of the large desk, eyes searching for any movement to lock onto.

The door opened abruptly and the lights turned to the normal hue. Brea jumped and whirled around, coming face to face with her master. Xeon had stridden into the room, one of the thin metal panels clutched in one hand, and when his eyes fell onto Brea, he stopped. His eyes narrowed and he towards her cage and then back at her. Then he glanced at his desk and the normally placid expression morphed into a formidable frown.

"How did you get out?" He asked incredulously.

Brea froze on the spot, holding her arms close to her and staring with wide eyed terror, heart pounding in her temples. Her mouth fell open as she tried to reply, but once again found it difficult to vocalize in front of him.

"I-I…t-the latch…" She stammered.

One of his red eyes squinted at her. "_You_ opened the latch?"

She nodded.

"No one _let _you out?" He asked, walking further into the room towards her. She shied back from the approaching robot, but his steps carried him faster then her small ones and he was standing over her within seconds. She shook her head at his question. His optics narrowed further and Brea had a horrible impression lasers might very well shoot out at her.

"_No one_ was in here?" He asked, his voice filled with suspicion that was beginning to morph into anger.

She shook her head vigorously. "W-when I…woke up…you were gone a-and…"

"_And_?"

"I opened the latch."

"By yourself?"

"Y-yes…sir."

He studied her for a long moment and then glanced at his desk again, and he scowled. His ruby eyes cut into her as their attention swung back, sending a cold shiver down her spine.

"Are you lying?" He asked, voice soft and venomous.

"No sir…"

Xeon studied her for a long moment before bending down and scooping her up, quickly. Brea bit back a startled cry and her head spun with vertigo as Xeon sat her down atop his desk and she stumbled as she tried to catch herself. He placed his hands on either side of her and waited for her to look up at him before speaking.

"Let me make this one thing clear to you, little Brea," Xeon told her. "You're purpose here is not equal to others of your species. I have other uses for you and the innate abilities you kind possess."

Brea blinked, heart firmly lodged in her trachea. "A-abilities?"

"Humans have the ability to sense certain atmospheric anomalies that Cybertronian sensors cannot detect," He continued, a small hint of disdain in his tone. "And your purpose here is to be vigilant for these anomalies that my other security protocols cannot identify."

"I don't understand…"

Xeon's eyes narrowed sharply and he slammed his fist against table top. Brea cried out, startled and scrambled back. Xeon's hand reached out and picked her up, swinging her around to face the back of his desk.

One of the drawers was open a crack.

"_Someone_ has been in here…The information collected within this room has been compromised," Xeon hissed vehemently, "You're life depends upon your usefulness…and your usefulness depends upon your ability to prevent these intruders from entering this room and extracting any information!"

Brea shivered in the robot's hand, head spinning and heart racing. Tears swelled in her eyes and her chest burned with panic.

"I…I'm sorry…I didn't know…" She sobbed. "I didn't know…I was supposed to…"

For a long and terrifying moment, there was silence. And then, warm air rushed over her head and the hand pulled back, bring her close to his chest armor.

"You did not know," Xeon muttered softly in confirmation of Brea's excuse, sounding almost apologetic. "You are forgiven this one time, but you are to be vigilant from here on. I will not tolerate these intrusions. The information stored within these walls is vital to the survival of this planet and, likewise, yours."

Brea gulped and looked back down at the desk, flinching as Xeon brushed his finger against her shoulder, presumably to calm her down from her near hysterics.

"I…I did hear _something_…" She stammered, hoping to find a way onto his good side again.

Xeon stepped behind his desk and sat down, gently depositing the girl on the surface. "What did you hear?" His voice had returned to the soft inflectionless tone.

"A ringing sound, but it was really soft," Brea rubbed her arms in attempt to get the blood flowing through her once more, "A-and there was this weird feeling in the air…like electricity almost."

Xeon stared beyond her in contemplation for a long moment. "They're getting craftier."

Brea merely sat there, confused. "Who is?"

Xeon's eyes returned to her. "No one who you need to be concerned with. Simply know that these persons are never to enter this room. Only I am permitted in here. If another Mech ever steps inside here not in my company, assuming the security protocols do not alert me, I want you to inform me. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Good."

A pause.

"Do you know what it was?" Brea asked. "What made the ringing noise, I mean."

"A mirror coating generator most likely."

Brea stared bemusedly. "A…what?"

"A generator that allows the user to become imperceptible to visual and heat sensors," Xeon explained.

The preverbal wheels of Brea's tired and frightened mind turned slowly and she sat there in bemusement for a moment. "You mean…they become invisible?" She asked.

"Essentially."

A pause.

"…really?" She asked, finding the concept of a robot becoming invisible rather hard to imagine…and it was intriguing.

Xeon sent her an amused look, seeming to catch onto the hint of curiosity in her voice. "Yes. However, they are expensive and use far too much energy to be of any real or practical use to any ordinary Mech. This group, it seems, is quite stubborn. Another reason why you must be alert."

"…do you have one?"

Xeon's mouth twitched into the tiniest of smiles. "Not a fully functioning generator," He replied, "It is merely a demonstrative sample of a new model."

Brea felt her cheeks blush and she asked, "…can I see?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes:** Another update! Yay! Thank you for all the reviews and such from you all, it's very much appriciated.

Phase Three: Assimilation

Chapter Six

The ringing had not returned yet and Brea spent the last several 'days' trying to find ways of entertaining herself while at the same time being able to listen for any signs of intruders. She giggled when she realized, belatedly, that she was, essentially, a guard dog.

The first thing she thought of was window sitting. For the first several days, this was an enthralling pursuit. From the office window, she could watch the city of Kaon go about its business; lights flashing, alien cars zooming around the giant skyline. Unlike human cities, the activity never seemed to stop. It slowed during certain times, but always picked up to the normal rush after an hour or so.

The greatest excitement came while Brea had been window sitting, and beginning to feel the tug of sleep when an impossibly thunderous explosion outside shook the glass she leaned against accompanied by a brilliant flash of light. Brea jumped off her perch with a start and screamed, diving for the cover of the sill. When the reverberations died away, she dared to look. Outside the window, she saw smoke hanging in the air, trailing downwards, and she followed it with her eyes to the world below. She saw organized chaos at the street level, but could make out vague shapes.

Watching the small dots scurry around so very far below for what seemed like hours, Brea jump when the doors opened to allow Xeon to enter the office, striding at a leisurely pace. He looked almost…pleased.

"Nothing to report, sir," She said automatically at his entrance, just as she'd been taught. Xeon made a noncommittal grunt before he walked to his desk and stood there, gazing down at the electronic screen set inside the metal panel he carried.

"What's going on…outside I mean?" Brea asked after a moment of silence.

"A wreck," Xeon answered simply, strolling over to one of the book shelves and extracting a seemingly random panel from the collection and replacing it with the one he had walked in with. "Nothing important."

"Was anyone…hurt?" She asked. "W-what happened?"

"I do not know," Xeon answered, walking back to his desk and taking his seat. The hologram monitor appeared and the robot (or _Mech_ as she'd heard her master say) set to his work. "Two personal transport vehicles collided, I believe. It is an unusual happenstance, but not uncommon."

Brea stared at the monitor with mounting curiosity. Every time Xeon entered the office and turned on the hologram monitor, she found herself drawn to the bizarre sight. When she thought of holograms, it was in science fiction stories. Things like Star Trek or Stargate had holograms…not real life. But then again, who thought giant alien robot existed either. Maybe it wasn't so far fetched.

"It is impolite to stare, little one," Xeon told her. Brea started, switching her gaze over to see the back of Xeon's head.

She gawked for a moment. _How can he see me?_

"S-sorry sir." She averted her gaze and turned to look back down at the scene, noting that the situation seemed to have been handled and the action was dispersing.

"It was so _loud_," She muttered.

Xeon made a noncommittal grunt, but did not reply or elaborate.

* * *

The ringing had still not returned and Brea continued to report the lack of activity to her master each time he strolled into the office. And every time she wondered his reaction would be. Despite the rationality that he should be happy that there were no intrusions, she still feared that he might take the lack of activity to mean that she wasn't doing her job correctly and she was therefore useless. Every time the doors opened, she would say "nothing to report" and wait anxiously for the response which usually consisted of a sound of acknowledgement or silence.

By now she was beginning to see a pattern in Xeon's visits to the space that had become her new home. By Brea's rough estimate of time, about two to three days would pass between his visits and he usually stayed for several hours, working at his desk. She wished she had her cell phone or a watch so she could more accurately determine the actual times. However, as Brea became use to her environment, her inability to speak aloud around Xeon without stammering began to disappear.

She was awoken out of an uneasy and nightmare filled sleep quite abruptly when a peculiar sound reached her ears. Raising her head to gaze out at the expansive room, her eyes blearily looking past the slits of her eyes lids, Brea listened for the noise.

From the door far to her right, she could hear what struck her as being…scratching? First thought that came to her was that it was Xeon, but as the scratching continued, not muddled with faint clicks and taps, she tossed the notion away. It sounded as though someone was trying to get into the room…and they didn't have a key.

With a start, and now fully awake, she leapt out of bed and ran to the cage door. It wasn't locked. Pushing it aside, Brea walked to the edge of the step and jumped down, wincing at the jarring landing. She rushed over to the door and pressed her ear to it.

Beyond the thick metal, she heard clicks and taps, metal clinking together and other tinkering noises. And voices. She squinted her eyes as if that would somehow increase her hearing. They were voices….but they were muffled and she couldn't understand a word they were saying.

She vaguely wondered if there was some alarm or something she could trip to scare them off. Xeon had simply told her to inform him of any intruders. What if the intruders got in? How was she supposed to defend herself?

Brea stepped away from the door as a sinking feeling come over her. A particularly loud 'klink' startled her and she bolted for her cage, struggling to pull herself onto the raised step.

Roughly closing the door behind her, Brea sprang for her bed and buried her face into the fabric. After her heart had calmed, she raised her head and listened.

There was no noise. She listened for a few more seconds and then glanced down at the cushion and frowned. With an aggravated sigh, she flopped back down and went back to sleep.

* * *

"Nothing to report," Brea said as she sat atop her perch on the step that divided the two halves of the room, her heels bumping into the step as her legs swung off the edge. She paused for a moment, frowning as she recalled the prior incident that she was still unsure was even real. She'd had many strange nightmares lately. Perhaps it had been just that. But just in case, she added belatedly, "…I think."

Xeon paused in his work to send her a look. "Explain."

Brea hesitated. "Well…I though I heard noises outside the door earlier. I thought it was you at first, but the door didn't open. There were voices."

Xeon's eyes narrowed in contemplation. Seeming to have come to a conclusion, the Mech reached over to the control panel set into the surface of his desk and typed something. The holographic monitor changed from the normal scrolls of text and charts to a grid of six squares. Each one moved with motion and Brea instantly recognized them to be video feeds. She couldn't make out much, but she continued to watch curiously as Xeon enlarged one and rewind it, watching with sharp eyes.

"Did you hear anything that they said?" He asked.

"No…it was muffled," Brea replied. "And I don't think they were speaking English either."

As he watched, something came into frame and he instantly paused the video, scrutinizing the shot. He smiled at the image. It wasn't a pleasant smile.

"Good work, little Brea," He said at last. "You've done very well."

Brea felt a great weight lift from her shoulders. So there had been something there. She felt oddly proud.

With that, Xeon rose from his seat and stalked over to the door. For a fleeting moment, Brea thought he was leaving, but instead of disappearing through the door, he stood outside it, scrutinizing the frame. His eye caught onto something and he reached out to yank it from it's place. Stepping back inside the office, Xeon held the small device between two fingers, eyes glowing ominously.

"Quiet bold of them," He said to himself, walking back around his desk.

"What is it?" Brea asked, pushing herself off the shelf and walking towards the desk, hoping to get a better look.

"A remote sensor," Xeon replied, "It transmits a signal back to the receiver. Likely they were hoping to use this to log my presence here and plan a raid of some sort."

"So they were watching the door?" Brea asked. "Should I…watch the door more?"

Xeon had been glowering at the small device pinched between his fingers, but he glanced down at Brea, amused.

"You're observant for an organic," He commented. Sitting back in his chair, he turned his gaze back to the remote sensor. "Yes, keep an optic the door. They may try to plant more sensors, maybe even cameras. Keep vigilant."

"Yes sir," Brea replied. She walked towards the window and sat on the four foot high boarder, gazing out. After a moment, a notion came to her and she turned back to look up at the looming figure of her master. "May I ask you something?"

Xeon didn't answer right away, but took a moment to turn his chair around to look at her. His eyes beheld her in an almost suspicious way. "You may," he replied.

"What should I do if anyone ever manages to break in? Is there some alarm I can trigger or some way to get a message out to you?"

The suspicion in his eyes disappeared and was replaced with contemplation. "There are alarms in place should someone enter this room that does not match my energy signature, but there is no manual alarm for you to activate," He looked thoughtful for a moment, "I may install one for you."

"Also," Brea hesitated as she chose her words, carefully. "I…was wondering…if maybe…you could teach me…a little…of your language."

Xeon's pinned her with a sharp look. "And why do you wish to learn Cybertronian?"

Brea felt ill and wished she'd never spoken. "Well…it's just that…I was thinking, what if those guys came back? I might be ale to understand what they're saying and maybe…I dunno. I thought, maybe, I'd be more useful that way and…"

Brea broke off when a large dark hand swept in and gently plucked her from the sill and sat her atop his desk.

Looking up at her master's face, expecting him to be mad, Brea was surprised to see him smiling. He opened his mouth and said something that Brea did not catch.

Brea frowned. "What?"

He repeated the word. "It means 'hello'."

Brea smiled. "Oh. Ok," after a moment she added, "Um…can you repeat it for me one more time?"


	7. Chapter 7

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I hope you all like this chapter, it's my favorite so far. It's my baby. It turned out a LOT longer then I had previously thought, but then again, there isn't anything wrong with an accidentally long update. Ii wish some of the stories I read would do that once in a while. 'Oops! This chapter's really long!" Hey I ain't complaining. Happy accident indeed.

I hope the time jump doesn't throw you all off too much. Anyway, thank you for all the positive reviews and wonderful support! If you guys have any critiques to give, don't be afraid to give them. I'm always open for improvment on anything I do. Also, I drew a pic of Brea and posted it on my Deviantart account. To see my Dev page, just go to my profile and there are links that will direct you. If you do view it, please leave a comment! Thanks!

* * *

**Phase Four: Blind**

**Chapter Seven**

It is said that time is a mere illusion. If that was so, then it was a very convincing illusion.

How long had it been?

Her rough estimate slated her time living in Kaon, held up in Xeon's office, at around six months. Possibly more. Possibly less. She dared not ask her master what the real time was. Brea had learned early on that asking or saying things that somehow implied that she was unhappy with her life there or that she wanted to be freed would upset Xeon. She was not one to be curious about how mad he could get. Despite his normal placidity and indifference to most things concerning his pet, Xeon was capable of unreeling anger. She would see flashes of it every so often, but he was always quick to regain his composure; a small aspect of his personality that Brea was always grateful for. Only once did he truly loose his temper. Over exactly what, she did not know. She only knew that he stormed into his office on evening, eyes flashing, and his face was contorted into a scowl so severe, Brea vaguely wondered if it were at all possible for it to stay that way. He had spent several minutes pacing the room, muttering darkly. His anger reached a boiling point and he walked over to his desk and began pounding at the top, bellowing in anger. Watching the aggressive behavior with panic, Brea wedged herself into the farthest corner of her cage and did not reemerge until after her master had left. On his next visit, he made no actions to even indicate he had ever had the fit of rage and Brea was not eager to bring it up.

Her earlier days living with Xeon were filled with such uncertainty and fear that it was the only thing occupying her mind. It was only until month into her captivity that she really even thought of her family or of any of her fellow humans and their fates. When the realization came to her that she might never see them again, hitting her quiet literally like a load of brick, she spent several long minutes staring into space before the world promptly collapsed on her. Luckily, Xeon had not been around when she had her breakdown and she ha not suffered another since. She didn't know or care to think of how he would react to such a display. As long as he was happy, things were pleasant.

First impressions left Brea with the notion that despite his overall calmness paralleled with his occasional bouts of anger, Xeon was quite paranoid. It took a good three months before he was convinced that whoever was trying to get into his office had finally stopped their attempts. He never elaborated who it was or what they were after. And she was content in not knowing, merely glad that she never had to use the little alarm tripper he had installed for her. Many times she feared that the mysterious assailants would siege the office by force, plowing down the door and smashing through the window.

In the third month, Xeon became irrationally chipper with the news that his office was safe from intruders. Brea never asked how he knew this for a fact, but she became deathly afraid that her job as 'guard' was now obsolete…as was her life. But Xeon made no notion to indicate he intended to get rid of her. Instead, he surprised her one day when he entered his office, declaring he had a surprise for her.

The fear of termination still lingered in her mind as Xeon placed her on his desk. She watched, still as stone, as Xeon extracted a small box from thin air. It was a feat that had boggled her mind in the beginning and something she would ask him to do over and over again, just to watch object appear and disappear in and out of thin air. She was mildly surprised he obliged so often, even though he seemed quiet amused at her reactions and awe-filled looks at the sight of something tangible and real suddenly disappearing and reappearing at the flick of a wrist. He tried to explain the dynamics of 'sub-space' pockets to her, but none of the bewildering muddle of quantum physics translated to anything she could understand. But it was fun to watch.

Xeon opened the little box to reveal a small circlet of gold metal, decorative carvings around it. Brea marveled at the beautiful piece of work and then felt her insides drop when she realized what it was.

A collar.

Her master did not seem to notice his pet's sudden epiphany and easily slipped the metal ring around her neck, the two end meeting and sealing together. It was thin and light, but tall and covered her scars completely, restricting the movements of her neck some. It felt awkward and if she wasn't careful about how she moved, she could give herself a painful knick under the chin.

But she dared not ask for it to be removed.

Six months…six moths of obeying and watching. Time past slowly at times and then other times it would be gone in a flash like some vague memory. Sometimes she wondered if it really had been six months; maybe it had only been a week, or maybe so much as much as a year. She spent her time alone; her thoughts were her only friend. When the quiet was too much for her, she would hum or sing songs she could remember the lyrics too. For nearly a week, she past the time by singing the tune to a coffee commercial over and over again until she couldn't stand to utter the words anymore.

Locked away in the office that was so very large and so very small at the same time; her world never changed and she felt the urges to disobey, to rebel, and resist dwindle away with every passing 'day'. She would obey, but inside she would muddle in her own self misery, never taking the chance at freedom and never having the courage to stand up against those who were trying to destroy everything she knew. A side of her simply didn't even seem to care anymore. The dominant thoughts that coaxed her into submission were always careful to warn her of what could happen to her if she ever disobeyed.

And then there was the other side of her mind that would appear every so often to feebly attempt to rile her up and get her to stand up for herself, her people. It could never hold onto control for very long and sooner rather then later, the dooming thoughts of acquiescence would take their rightful place at the forefront of her cognitive thoughts.

But hope's faint song never stopped playing in her head, it was always present if not somewhat muted. It wouldn't allow her to completely relinquish herself.

It wasn't much, but all she had was vague hope of one day doing all the things she wanted to do. Sometimes she would imagine herself coming up with and executing elaborate escape plans that would make James Bond proud, but her dreams always stopped short of the real goal; returning to Earth. To her family. It was a far fetched notion that seemed so far away and so unreachable that after a time, she refused to even dream about it.

Capitulation eventually took over.

* * *

Brea watched the skyline with failing interest.

The doors hissed open.

"_Nothing to report, sir_," Brea said absently in Cybertronian from her place on the window sill, not bothering to look up at her master as he entered. There had been nothing to report for several months, but she still said the same thing over and over whenever Xeon visited. It was as if she was programmed to say it. "_There was a fight on the balcony across the way though. Some Mechs going at it_."

"_I suppose it was those two from Iacon again_," Xeon commented absently with a small hint of nastiness in his tone as he set at his desk. "_Viral always invites them to her get-togethers and they always fight. Why she even bothers trying to attract their interest is beyond my logic capabilities._"

"_I couldn't tell_," She replied, "_There were too many others trying to pry them apart. The yellow one tried toss the other over the edge. It was kinda funny._"

She heard Xeon chuckle lightly. "_Perhaps I should have accepted the invitation then, it sounds as though it was a surprisingly enjoyable evening_."

"_How come you never go to Lady Viral's parties_?" She asked. "_She sends invitations all the time._"

"_Viral is a socialite. She sends invitations to everyone of high stature that she feels may add to her social importance. But in no fashion am I obligated to attend. Rather I find myself in a situation that is…unbecoming of someone in my position. _"

"_All work and no play makes for a dull Mech."_

"_Preferably dull then run the risk of social disgraced."_

She looked through the window, longingly.

"Sounds like it'd be fun though," Brea commented, switching back to English. "It'd be nice to get out of here once in a while."

Xeon turned to stare at her pointedly; it was not the first time Brea had made a bold comment about wanting to get out and see more of the city. "I assure you; such gatherings are quite boring unless you're inclined to overcharging your systems on over-priced high-grade. Which I do no believe I have need to inform you of the consequences of someone of your make-up partaking in such commodities."

"Melting into goo doesn't sound too fun…"

"Quite."

A pause.

"You're Cybertronian is improving," He commented, sounding surprised, "You're pronunciation is still weak however."

"I will improve it, sir," Brea assured him, pushing off the window sill. "Have you ever gone to one of her parties?"

He pinned her with a sharp look.

"If you are trying to convince me of accepting her constant invitations," Xeon told her, "You have already failed. I will hear no more on the subject."

Brea sighed. _Well…it was worth a try._

* * *

Six months of being in the same room, most of which was spent by herself, had given Brea a strange new boldness. Perhaps it was simply because silence was beginning to become such the norm that whenever there were ears (or audios) to listen, she was going to make use of that time. When Xeon was around, she spoke to him respectfully, yet she was no longer shy of making her opinions known; perpetual boredom did that to people. She wasn't afraid of asking questions and expressing her annoyance at certain things; like how the drones that cleaned the office every once in a while. It was not uncommon for her to spend the entire time dodging the scurrying little droids as they past around the floor, sweeping up, cleaning, and whatever else the hell they did. She wasn't too sure, seeing as she was too busy trying not to be flattened by them to really see.

Again, she was not afraid to complain.

Within reason of course. She'd never admitted her desire to find out what had happened to her family and her people, why she had been abducted, and generally why any of the past events had occurred at all. Of course, Xeon was punctual in warning her when she was treading into dangerous territory and she was always smart enough to never push an issue he labeled as Taboo.

Six months had given her plenty of time to sharpen her linguistic skills as well. Xeon had agreed to teach her a little Cybertronian and at first, all she learned was just a few words each visit, mostly because it was all Xeon had time for. He seemed very impressed at her progress though. She found other ways to learn when Xeon had no time for it; namely by watching.

After Xeon had declared that his office was secure from the attempted intruders, he began to showing up at his office accompanied by other Mechs. These new Mechs would always send glances her way; some curious, others scornful, most indifferent. They would sit for hours and talk while Brea sat in her cage, listening to how they pronounced the words, where they enunciated, and even the rhythm of their speech. One such (uncomfortable) meeting that (ironically) resulted in her greatest leap of progress was when Lady Viral came to visit.

Brea had been sitting on the edge of the step, humming quietly to herself when the doors opened and a shrill voice that made Brea wince, accompanied by muffled footsteps clamored into the room.

"…_if I had known they would behave in such a fashion there would be no possibility that I should ever allow them to set one transistor into my abode again. No matter how charming they are._"

Brea instantly recognized the magenta femme as she strolled into the room and Brea superimposed the image of her high school's head cheerleader and resident school bitch over her face.

Brea grinned.

_Courtney I think I've found you're other half… _

She blinked and then frowned at herself.

_Why the hell am I thinking about Courtney Hodgings?!_

Her momentary self-incredulously was abruptly cut off when Viral's voice slit the air.

"_Oh! My lord Xeon_!" Brea flinched and looked up to see Viral making a beeline for her. Brea jumped off the step and tried to run, but the femme's hands were fast. Brea squeaked in protest as Lady Viral scooped her up and began to…cuddle her.

"_What an adorable little human_!" She cooed. Brea wiggled in her grasp, wanting nothing more then to be released.

When she glanced his way, she saw Xeon watching…and he was smiling!

Brea sent the Mech the most severe glare she could muster, but it made no difference. Viral did not let go.

"_What is her name_?" Viral asked, adjusting Brea so she held her out at arms length, seemingly to get a better look at her. The femme tilted her head in contemplation. "_Or it a male? I can never tell when they're young and thin like this._"

Xeon chuckled amusedly as sat back in his seat. "_Her name is Brea_."

"_So it is a female_!" Viral cheered, bringing Brea closer to her chest plate. "_I thought as much. The males are so hard to control. They're only good for the arenas or the breeding program as far as I'm concerned. Speaking of which, I enrolled my own little Aida in the breeding program! She has the most striking features. That fluff on their heads? Well, my little Aida's is bright red. I simply had to have another just like her! No conceptions yet, but I am hopeful we see results soon. Only the top gladiator will do for my pet, but it seems as though they make poor breeders._"

"_I've heard you have quite the collection now_," Xeon commented.

"_I do, I do_," She replied, tucking Brea into the crook of her arm and repeatedly petting and stroking her like a cat. Brea wished she had some sort of sharp object to jab into the femme's fingers. Viral's shrill voice had an odd tinge to it. Brea could hear the words more clearly and pick out the individual sounds, making it easier to understand. But after a while, the femme's voice was so grating it was almost not worth it listening to her….

"_Six, now_."

"_How _do_ you manage_?"

"_Oh they are very well trained. Most of them are for the parties. A number of my guests are intrigued by the little creatures, so I make sure there are enough to go around. It seems as though I am doing all the advertising for them myself_."

"_And doing a marvelous job it seems_," Xeon replied.

"_So, when is the next session_?" Viral asked, changing subject abruptly.

The amusement on Xeon's face disappeared instantly.

"_Half an orn_."

"_Oh my, I hope those morons will be sensible about this whole deal. Really, it's such a good venture for Kaon and for Cybertron. Why they do not see the good in your work is so beyond me._"

"_Some roots grow far deeper then we would like, but they are there. And it is our duty to see that those roots do not ruin the foundation of our society_."

"_I will certainly be there to advocate your side if the need should arise, My Lord_."

Xeon smiled. "_That is exactly what I was hoping to hear my lady_."

Brea was held captive for another hour as Viral and Xeon talked, the conversation topic lost on her while she struggled to escape the femme's grasp.

* * *

Cybertronian was, in all sense of the phrase, an alien language. Pronunciations, honorifics, sentence structure; they were all hard to grasp and had she been home on Earth trying to learn it, she would have given up long ago. But her unique situation appeared to be the ideal setting for learning such a language. The hardest part to learn was pronunciation, simply because human anatomy did not suit that way of talking. She found after a while of speaking in Cybertronian, her mouth would feel tired and stiff. But with practice, she learned to work past it.

Xeon, as she learned some time later, was an Emirate, which essentially meant he was the 'Senator' figure of Kaon. However, his position was not exactly the same as a Senator. He represented the city of Kaon in the Senate. (Brea's inner self smiled at the idea that these beings had a Senate) But as to what that entailed, she did not know. The Senate itself only met every ten orns, roughly four months. Brea learned all of this after a strange period of absence of Xeon's routine visits. When he finally appeared a few days after his usual visit, he did not look pleased. He spent several long minutes staring out the large window before trumping over to the shelves and rummaging through the various metal panels (data-pads, she learned) lined there. Brea kept out of the way, watching from her cage. He muttered darkly to himself in Cybertronian and at the time, Brea only knew a little Cybertronian, but she caught phrases like "…ignorant bigots…" and "…how dare they…" and something that sounded like "…be the one to bring the third war…" Brea wisely refrained from asking any questions that day.

* * *

Brea had been sitting on the window sill, gazing across the way over to another tower where a large, glass domed balcony encircled the top of the structure and inside, she could see the jubilant party being held. Lady Viral lived in that tower and she was quite a fan of social gatherings. Xeon entered the office with yet another Mech and Brea turned to look. She felt her heart seize in her chest when she saw the large black Mech stride into the room who seemed so familiar. Her mind flashed with memories of the beginning of her ordeal and the image of the giant overseers came to her. It was the black Mech from so long ago aboard the transport ship.

The Mech almost immediately noticed her and despite the fact his mouth was covered with a face mask, by the way his visor glowed, she knew he was smiling. "Well, well…look who we have here."

Brea got up from the sill hastily and made her way around the desk, never taking her eyes off him as she walked out of sight from the Mech. She heard him laugh. "_Lord Xeon, I don't think your pet likes me._"

"_She is still unaccustomed to strangers. She had an…unpleasant encounter with Lady Viral not long ago_," Xeon replied walking up to the desk and looking down at Brea as she peeked around the edge to stare at the familiar Mech, insides churning and heart hammering. The black Mech laughed and muttered something in the affirmative. In English, Xeon said, "Brea, go to your cage and recharge. We have business to attend to."

Brea looked up into Xeon's face curiously before looking back at the black Mech uncertainly. Obediently, and without speaking, Brea made her way across the room to the step and hauled herself up easily. She resisted the urge to turn and look at the Mech, she could feel his mechanical eyes on her, and managed to make it to her cage. She stepped inside and closed the door shut before making her way to the bed and laid down, burying her face into the fabric.

She listened.

"_I see you've managed to keep it alive this long_," The Mech commented to Xeon in Cybertronian. "_Most of the first couple batches didn't make it past the fourth orn_."

"_It is not difficult_," Xeon replied as he settled into his seat, speaking smoothly in Cybertronian. "_She's quite capable of taking care of herself given the proper supplies_."

The smile in the Mech's visor disappeared. "_Is that wise_?" He walked over to the desk and took up a chair that had been satiated in front. "_Give a human enough leeway and they'll wiggle right out of your reach. You should be more strict, especially with the young ones. They're more impressionable._"

"_Brea is obedient enough_," Xeon replied, not sounding at all concern. "_She's learned her place here very well._"

"_I am only cautioning you, sir_," said the Mech, "_We've been seeing more uprisings amongst the domesticated group lately. Seventeen were neutralized last orn for disobedience. The compound staff is barely keeping up. And we're getting more requests for training before delivery_."

Xeon looked up from his data-pad, "_Am I correct in understanding that despite these defects, the demand is still rising?_"

"_It's as strong as ever,_" the Mech replied. "_It's starting to become difficult capturing the native ones. They've learned to hide. And I will give them this; they are very good at hiding. So much so that we're expecting delays with the next shipment. There also seems to be some sort of disease or something passing through the population. We're getting more reports from ground hunters finding groups of them dead in caves or by rivers. Our scientists are suspecting a possible leak from one of the refineries is contaminating the water source. That combined with news from the Citadel, well…Mechs down there are starting to get nervous. And that's bad for business…_"

"_Do_ _not worry, Vortex. Your trade is far from doomed. When the breeding program begins to grow, we will no longer have to stock our inventory with wild humans. The first litter of Cybertronian born humans is due within the next seven orns and most have already been claimed by customers,"_ Xeon replied, the news not even fazing him. "_Send word to Maul not to slow refinery output. The ground hunters will simply have to tough it out as best they can. We still need wild humans to supplement current demand. The arenas are running low on fighters as well. Motormaster wants a new shipment of young males. He said the last shipment had some that were too young and some were too old. He'll send Wildrider down to pick out the proper candidates._"

"_Of course, my lord_."

"_Has the Senate contacted you at all?_"

"_We had an inspector show up at the processing facility half an orn back,_" The previously unnamed 'Vortex' replied disdainfully and then added with a scoff, "_You could tell _he_ was Iacon manufactured_."

"_One of Prime's?_"

"_Of course._"

Xeon made a harsh noise, like a snort. "_He's starting to encroach upon our business ventures again, but this time he's doing it legally and the Senate is starting to get curious as well._"

"_I heard about the last session of the Senate from Ratbat,_" Vortex shifted in his chair and after a nervous pause, he said, "_Are you going to do it?_"

"_I have no choice if that is what they decide. It will look highly suspicious if I refuse them. I will need Swindle to fabricate replacement documentation, just in case the Senate decides to investigate._"

"_Swindle's already drawing up some invoices for the Energon imports for Ratbat. The security board asked him for the documentation. I will inform him of his new assignment as soon as I return._"

"_See that you do._"

Brea's heart pounded in her temples and her hands clutched at the fabric. She breathed in slow and shallow while her mind raced. A terrible feeling began to grow in her gut and she worried she was going to be sick. Her mind was screaming for the world to slow and allow her to adjust.

The rest of the Mechs' conversation was drowned out by the sound of her own pounding heart. She vaguely heard Xeon say goodbye to Vortex and as soon as the door hissed shut, Brea gulped in air she'd been withheld from taking. Her short shallow breathes began to quicken and she felt panic settle in over her.

"Brea," Xeon's smooth voice called from over head.

Shakily, Brea raised her head, feeling hot streams drip down her cheeks. Xeon stared down at her, expressionless.

"It was you…" She sobbed. "B-but…W-why…?"

His eyes were narrow slits.

"The universe is cruel human. Survival dictates us all," Xeon said. "And to survive, we must do what we can."

Brea sat up, scrubbing at her cheeks, "But…why do this to us?"

"You planet is the only thing keeping Cybertron from a third civil war," Xeon said in a way that sounded as if he was trying to comfort her, "As long as there is Energon to spare, both sides are happy. As soon as that Energon supply ends, the coalition will fall apart and we'll begin another millions vorns of useless fighting; the last war very nearly wiped us out of existence. This city is thriving because of my ingenuity. Those in Iacon would have us return to those days of scrounging and killing. I will not see my city, all my hard work, crumble because Prime and his militia."

"But…my people…"

"You're species is alive because of me," He said, eyes narrowing. "We could have easily killed you all off and harvested the planet as we wish, but the humans race lives on here, because I decided so. Do not mistake my generosity for genocide."

Brea stared up into his blood red eyes that seemed to bear down on her and burn her insides. She shrank under their glare.

His voice was low and dangerous, a warning hidden within his words, as he said, "Servitude is a far better fate than oblivion; wouldn't you agree little Brea?"

* * *

Author's Notes (2): Please, like you didn't see this coming. D


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Notes: My brain is tired. I've been so totally drained lately. A lot of the fics I read haven't updated in a while and that makes me cranky when I don't get my TF fic fix. Lately I've been occupied with the TF mosaic pieces I've picked up too. I have four to finish. Three of which I've had sitting on the shelf for about...a couple months. People are getting ready to revolt, I just know it. lol. The fourth is part of a special Mosaic project that focuses on the TF Animated universe. I'm doing the Sari Mosaic. Yay! lol. Anyway, enjoy this chaater. It's a little shorter then usual, but I garantee that it'll be worht it.

Phase Four: Blind

Chapter Eight

The lights dimmed to near darkness as Xeon left, the city light beyond the glass casting the room in an eerie glow of violet light. The room that had been her world for so many months, the room she had just began to feel welcome in, comfortable in… was now nothing but a vast cage, the gold ring around her neck; just a symbol of oppression and submissiveness, and the food and water sitting inconspicuously in their containers; rewards for being a good little pet.

Her head pounded with a headache born of inconsolable tears, the remnants of which stained her cheeks. Red, moist eyes gaze out through the bars of her cage (shut and locked) and she began to wonder…

Why didn't she see it before?

Xeon…how she _hated _him.

He had been behind the entire thing. It was his decision to enslave her people, to make a profit off of them. He could have let then die…but he chose to enslave them. And he seemed to think she should be grateful for it?

The city she had been gazing at through glass all this time with a sense of wonder and discovery…had turned ugly and wretched. Now that she knew what made the lights sparkle so brilliantly, what made the alien hover cars zoom by like a cardiographer ballet, and what fueled the Mechs who pilgrimaged to Lady Viral's parties every other week.

Energon, it was called. The life blood of Cybertron and it's inhabitants. Energon that was refined from Terran soil at the cost of human freedom, human lives, and human blood.

She mourned her planet, dreading to think what a mess these heartless machine had made of it. She mourned her people and the horrors they must be experiencing while she sat in her cage safe and content. She mourned her family…her mom and dad and little brother. She choked back a sob as it bubbled up at the thought of them. How they would react if they saw her now. No. She didn't want to think about them. She didn't want to imagine the endless atrocities that could or had befallen them too. We're they even alive? No—she couldn't think about it.

She leered out into the darkness.

Xeon.

She _hated_ him…for everything…

She hated herself…for not seeing.

Brea's face scrunched up in a scowl and she reached down to the floor and grabbed her sneaker and pulling her arm back to chuck it at the cage door in absolute anger, to release the mounting frustration and demoralization, when…she paused. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched in a stark realization.

Her ears were ringing.

Stunned, she blinked and dropped the shoe in shock. Slowly, eyes searching the room and Brea lowered herself back onto the bed. She crossed her legs and scanned the room with her eyes, looking for anything.

A flicker of motion turned her head close to the door where a shadow hung, cut off by the cascading light of the window. Just beyond the light, she saw a vague outline of something, the air inside seemed to be warped and bent.

She licked her lips and in Cybertronian she called out, "_Hello?_"

She waited for a response. There was none.

"_I know you're there. I can hear the generator,_" She said.

There was the barest scuffling noise, but no movement.

"_I don't know who you are…or how you got in,_" She said, "_But if you want, take whatever you're after,_" She said. "_I_ _don't care. Xeon plans to exchange all these with fake ones soon so if you want them, take them now. Before they're gone. I won't stop you,_" She looked around her and laughed hollowly, "_It's not as if I could, even if I wanted to._"

Her words were met with silence.

Brea rose from the bed and walked to the cage door. She grippe the gilded bars and looked out beyond them. For a long moment, her thoughts muddled and congealed in her head.

She huffed a laugh, short and humorless. "_You know what's really funny…really sad about all this? I thought I was doing good by obeying him…I though that…as long as I was good and did what he said…there was a chance…_" She coughed as her throat began to clog and more hot tears dripped from her eyes, still raw and red. "_I thought there might be a chance…that maybe…he…that I could…see my…_"

Brea pressed her forehead to the metal bars, cold to the touch, as a wave of tears over took her. Her arms trembled and she struggled to breathe past the sobs that clogged her throat and lungs and her stomach and surrounding muscle ached.

"I didn't mean to…" She declared, sobbing hard, and returning to English. She didn't have the mental resolve to speak the alien language. "I wouldn't have helped him protect this place…if I had _known_…I didn't know…I didn't…"

Her voice disappeared followed by a long bout of silence, broken only by her hopeless whimpers, which seemed to last forever. Until…

"What is your name, youngling?"

Her head jerked up so fast, her vision blurred for a second and sent a sharp pain through her head. She shied back from the crouching shadow looming outside the cage and stared up into peering blue eyes.

"…m-my name…?" She stammered inanely.

"Yes," the shadow said, his voice low and attentive, almost cautious. "Or have they taken that from you as well?"

Brea would have laughed had she the moment's wit, but all she could do was stare up into those blue eyes. She'd never seen any alien Mech with blue eyes…everyone else's had been red.

"…Brea…" She replied, voice soft and meek. "My name is Brea…"

"Brea," The shadow repeated. "How old are you Brea?"

"I…I'm seventeen…I think," She said. The blue eyes squinted down at her and she had the inane impression…he was smiling.

"That is a good age to be," The shadow told her, a smile in his voice. She merely gawked at him, utterly confused.

"Why are you showing yourself? Won't the cameras catch you?"

"There are no cameras inside this room; only outside in the halls and throughout the rest of the tower. My scrambler will disrupt any other sensor." The smile left his voice as he said, "Xeon would never risk incriminating himself by having security cameras in here."

Brea shook her head, "I…I don't understand…who are you?"

"Just know that I am a friend," He assured her, placing one large hand atop the cage and for the briefest moment, his eyes softened. "I will return soon, but you must no tell Xeon you saw me. If all goes according to plan, I can get you out of here. Very soon."

The shadow stood and she got a very brief glimpse of him before his whole body dissolved into air and the ringing returned. Brea looked out trying to find some shimmer of movement to locate the mysterious Mech.

"Wait! Can't you tell me your name?" She asked. Silence answered her and Brea stared out into the room. After a long moment, she turned back to her bed and was about to climb back onto it…

"Mirage," the voice said. "You can call me Mirage."

* * *

She did not tell him about the Mech when he entered his office. She merely laid on her bed and faced the wall. In her mind, thoughts raced and speculated.

_Mirage_, he said called himself. She smiled at that. It was an apt name for someone who could turn invisible at the drop of a dime. Brea absently nibbled on some piece of fruit, barely aware she was eating at all. She couldn't think of anything else except for the encounter.

The people she was supposed to help keep out of the office…they were trying to get at the information Xeon kept inside. The data-pads and all the information they carried. Xeon meant for all these data-pads to be replaced with faux ones, to fool the investigation the Senate was initiating. Maybe she could find a way to help stop it…

She jerked in surprise when she heard the cage door unlatch. She turned around to see Xeon kneeling down next to the cage, one hand just outside the open door, beckoning.

"Come," He ordered simply. Brea stared for a moment, ready to refuse, but surprised herself when he body obeyed without question. As she stepped outside the cage, Xeon gently scooped her up and made his way over to the window. For a long moment he stood in silence while Brea sat submissively in his hands. One large black finger gently stroked her shoulder as he stared out through the window. "You are useful, little Brea. I would be dismayed to see such a gifted being go to waste because of…ill feelings. You can still redeem yourself."

Brea felt anger bubble up inside her and even the fear of what would conspire couldn't suppress it any longer.

"Never," She said softly, just loud enough for him to hear her and the restrained anger in her tone. "I'll never forgive you."

The hands that held her so gently abruptly tightened and for a fleeting moment she was certain he was going to kill her, but the killing blow never came. Her heart raced as the fingers gripped her firmly, but not painfully so. She heard his inner workings grind and growl.

"_I must admit my disappointed_," Xeon admitted in Cybertronian. "_So much time and money has been invested into you…with less then satisfactory results._"

Brea struggled to keep her breathing normal and her heart from pounding clear out of her chest.

"It's a small price for the pain you've caused my people," She replied, forcing the words from her throat. They needed to be said and god as her witness she was going to say them!

Xeon abruptly turned and dropped her onto the desk. The landing jarred her and she fell back onto her rear, mind spinning with vertigo.

"_Do you truly believe that your race's survival takes precedent over ours_?" Xeon asked, the barest inflection of anger in his voice, as he loomed over her. "_Given the choice between the survival of Cybertronians and humans, Prime _himself_ would not choose the latter_."

"Do you think I care about your stupid politics?" Brea snarled, tears swelling up. "You took me from my home, my_ family_! You enslaved my people and desecrated my planet! You're a murderer!"

"I am a _hero_!" Xeon yelled, voice rising to a level of anger she had never heard. "Cybertron would be _dead_ by now had your little planet not been found by _my_ exploration team. That little _mud ball_ is fueling this planet and keeping it from tipping over the brink; I doubt you would find a Mech _anywhere_ who wouldn't be willing to sacrifice a few _organics_ to keep from entering another never-ending war. Not one Mech."

A flash of anger turned her vision white for a moment and before she could stop herself…

"You're wrong," She yelled. "_Mirage_ would!"

The anger in Xeon's face drained instantly and he stared stupidly for a moment before pure rage filtered into his eyes and he slammed his fists into the desk, mere feet from Brea. The surface under her fell and she rocked as metal beneath his fists buckled and bent under the force.

"Howdo youknowthat _name_?" He snarled, his red eyes flashing dangerously. "How do you know that_ traitor_?"

Brea instantly felt remorse for breaking her word to the mysterious Mech, but refused to back down. No more being scared of him, no more willing to bend. Her mind shrieked as innate survival instincts tried to override her anger and shame, but failed utterly. No more…

"It doesn't matter how I know him!" She shouted. "The Senate's going to find out about this, _all of this_, and you're going to pay for it all!"

A deafening silence befell the room and the two beings stared into each other, both seeing what was in the other's souls. In Brea, there was an undying light that refused to be contained, and in Xeon…there was darkness that refused to be cast aside. The only light came from his eyes…

Those eyes…

Brea would never forget those blood red eyes as their owner unleashed the unreeling anger he had so proficiently controlled until then.

* * *

"_I did as many as I could within the given amount of time_," Said an unpleasant sort of voice. "_But it should be enough for them._"

Tap. Clink. Shft. Tap. Clink.

"_I am not concerned with the amount, Swindle,_" Xeon replied brusquely, "_Only the invoices and contracts are of importance. I have already deleted the correspondences from my mainframe. Once you've completed your assignment, there will be nothing left for the inspectors to investigate._"

Brea made herself as small as possible, wedging herself between her bed and cage wall, ignoring the horrible burning pain in her ribs as her position agitated the bruises. She licked her split lip, still occasionally tasting blood when the thin tissue of the healing wound broke. Her arms and legs were covered in purple and green patches and she was almost certain her wrist was sprained…maybe broken. It hurt so much.

She listened to Xeon and the strange Mech named Swindle talk in hurried tones. She heard clinks and clanks as data-pads were removed from shelves and, presumably, replaced with the faux ones. She felt dizzy as she sat there and it seemed as though the world had become an abstract painting. Nothing made sense and yet she felt as though she should be able to see what was going to happen. But her mind blocked those thoughts.

"_Ratbat called to inform me that the inspectors are on their way here,_" Swindle said, a twinge of panic on his voice. "_We have less then five breems before they arrive._"

"_Then take the rest of these and destroy them,_" Xeon's voice snapped. "_They can search your sub-space pocket, so don't draw attention to yourself."_

"_Of course, my lord."_

"_One more thing Swindle…_"

Brea's cage rocked and swayed as it was picked up. She braced herself against the wall, muttering incoherently.

"_Here. I want you to get rid of her. Make sure all traces of her are erased. All traces. I do not want any existing evidence that I ever owned a human, is that clear? This human never _existed_._"

Brea's mind froze.

"_Yes sir._"

* * *

Author's notes: And the plot thickens...


	9. Chapter 9

Author's notes: Oh wow! So many lovely reviews. Thanks everyone for your support, hope you all enjoy this chapter.

* * *

Phase Five: Transition

Chapter Nine

* * *

Irony was never favorable and it always seemed to appear at the most inopportune times. All that time wishing she could go out and see the world…and now she got her wish. Although not under the circumstances which she felt would be more preferable. Had she any sense or wit left, she might have found the situation oddly funny, but her mind was frozen. All thoughts had ceased and all she seemed to be able to do now was cling to the golden bars of her cage, eyes darting here and there. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, or if she was looking for anything at all; maybe she just wanted to see as much of the world as she could before…

A feeling of absolute terror gripped her entire body. She'd never felt anything like it; it was as though every artery, vein, muscle, cell, and atom in her body was pumped with energy, ready to spring into action, and yet she couldn't move. It was terrifying and exhilarating and frustrating all at once. She barely even noticed the bone freezing chill of the outside world as her capture and, likely executioner, left Xeon's tower. The street level of Kaon looked nothing like the glittering sky line. The streets themselves were in ruins, the ground crumbled and broken. Pieces of metal and debris from _who knew what_ littered the ground, making clinking noises as the Mech walked.

Swindle strolled swiftly across the street to the cover of the buildings across the way, disappearing between their bulks into a skulky ally way. The cage swung unabated and the Mech made no motion to steady it or make the ride any less jarring for the little human inside. The water container splashed and sloshed before tipping over and soaking the floor and bottom of the bed. Her bare feet stung as the icy water touched her skin. The food container also tipped over, spilling its contents across the floor. Several pieces of fruit fell through the cage bars and fell to the ground while at the same time, water slipped out in thin dripping streams until the floor was no longer flooded, merely wet.

Her captor never spoke to her, even though she had half expected him to taunt her. She banged her head against the bars when the Mech took an abrupt turn and began marching down a new ally, just as dingy and dirty as the last. Deep bone panic took its toll and Brea felt her chest begin to heave as she struggled to breath. Hot tears burned her chilled cheeks and she gritted her teeth as she tried to choke back the sobs.

A beeping noise from above her made her jerk her head up to see Swindle raise his free hand to his mouth, speaking into his wrist.

"_Swindle here. What is it_?"

A voice, unfamiliar, filtered out of the speakers in the Mech's wrist.

"_Where are you?_"

"_Just taking care of something. Why, what's wrong?_"

"_The inspector's back. He wants _our_ copy of the invoices to verify the ones _Ratbat_ gave 'em. Where are they?_"

"_They're in my office. Top drawer_."

"_He wants to talk with you as well. Ask you some questions._"

"_I'll be there as soon as I'm done here. It won't take long._"

"_Alright. Just be quick about it. Onslaught out._"

The cage swung alarmingly before abruptly rocking as it was dropped onto the ground. Brea stumbled backwards onto her behind, hands reaching out to grab anything to steady herself; body aching resentfully in some placed while others screamed obscenities as she landed. She lifted her head to look up to find Swindle standing over her. His red optics studied her for a long, heart hammering, moment while his head tilted in contemplation. Suddenly lowering himself to one knee, he reached out and grabbed the top of the cage, fingers clawed as they gripped the thin metal bars. With the sheering and creaking sound of ripping metal, he tore the top of the cage right off and tossed it away. Brea pulled her arms and legs in close at the abrupt and violent action, screaming in absolute terror. All her senses, sight, hearing, taste, and touch were enhanced to abnormal levels as fear and adrenaline pumped through her. Her heart pounded like bass speakers in her ears and she felt it very well may burst before the Mech had any chance of killing her.

Cold metal fingers of a dark hand reached inside and wrapped around her shivering form, bruised arms stinging at the pressure, and lifted her up. Still and docile, her mind raced through lines of thought that seemed to last a fraction of a second while at the same time feeling as though they were hours long. She shut her eyes tightly and braced herself against the forth coming pain that would bring her death. She struggled to ease her thoughts, to calm herself in her last moments and taking deep breathes as--

--a sudden _SHEEW_ split the air with a sharp crack and Brea screamed, fearing it was the sound of her death, but her cries were drowned out by the thunderous bellows of a Mech in agony. The hand around her shuttered and dipped, causing her to cry out again as a swing of vertigo sent her already panicked mind spinning. She jerked, the action prompting hellish pain from her ribs, to a stop and opened her eyes involuntarily to see Swindle, kneeling on the ground with his free hand groping his shoulder. A fresh flow of pink and blue…blood drizzled from a hole the size of her head in the greasy yellow armor; the area around which was charred and dented inwards. She gawked at it.

The Mech seethed through his teeth, gritting against the pain. The injured shoulder shuttered and the vibrations traveled down the length of his arm to the hand that struggled to keep a hold of the captured human girl. Fingers loosened as strength gave way and Brea slipped through the digits. She landed awkwardly, more pain sprouting from her battered body, but was immediately up and running. Her body was aflame with such pain Brea wondered what was keeping her from fumbling to the ground in agony.

As she darted around the debris laden floor, she heard Swindle curse and rise from his crouch to stagger after her.

She dared not look back. She kept running, forward, faster, harder, longer…

Another loud _SHEEW_ cracked the air and Swindle cried out again.

Ok…one more peek.

Brea turned her head to see Swindle fall to the ground in a heap, his back smoking slightly, presumably from another wound. A flash of light caught Brea's eyes and her sight traveled up to the top of a small building over looking the entrance to the alley. She caught sight of a flash of grey before it disappeared beyond her sight.

She slowed and stopped, looking back at the downed Mech, heart pounding and breath deep and painful from the chilled air. Her body shivered in the cold as she gapped at the downed Mech with disbelieving eyes.

What had just happened?

Stunned, Brea stood there and stared, half expecting the Mech to rise, curse, and chase after her. The only movement came from her gasping mouth as her lungs worked double time to catch up.

The faint sound of metal falling on metal jerked her out of her memorization and she quickly glanced around the immediate area, looking for the source of the noise. More crashes followed, louder this time, and she began to hear the faint sound of…voices?

"_This way guys_," a faint voice said. "_The 'Con went down this way_."

"_Nice shot kid. I don't think I've seen you hit that good since Detra-9_!_"_

"_Yeah, well…I've been practicing a lot._"

Brea took a fearful step back at the approaching voices, and then another…and then bolted. Her legs, bruised and sore, ached with every step, but her adrenaline-juiced mind ignored the pain and she kept running, as fast as she could. Her body was aflame with a myriad of pain despite the freezing alien air that slapped against her exposed skin and her bare feet endured the sharp jets of pain as rocks and other sharp pointy things jabbed into her soles.

But she ignored it all and focused on running as far and as fast as she could away from there.

* * *

The old saying went 'Out of the frying pan and into the fire', but at the moment, Brea felt that the saying should be revised to 'Out of the frying pan and into the _freezer_.'

It was colder then anything Brea could remember enduring and her current attire made it all the more harder to bear. Had she worn her old clothes, she would have been able to keep a little warmer, but with nothing but the flimsy white dress (now stained and torn) and the metal collar (which began to absorb the cold, making it like ice against her neck), tolerating the frostiness was near impossible. She rubbed her toes vigorously, trying to keep from getting frost bitten. Her entire body shivered uncontrollably and her joints were stiff. The skin on her exposed flesh stung and she dreamed of a warm place to lay down and sleep the rest of her life away.

She'd escaped her first death only to find a second; this one slower and more painful. But she took solace in the fact that she was going to die on her own terms and not Xeon's orders.

She began to wish that she had not told Xeon about meeting Mirage. He had told her not to say anything. And now she was paying the price.

She raised her head and looked around her shelter…her tomb. She'd crawled into the crevasse between two containers, which she assumed were garbage cans of some sort. There she huddled and shivered, watching the warmth of her body as it escaped from inside her by the way of misty puffs of steam. Her throat stung with every intake of alien air.

She looked out of the small slit of the ally beyond the confines of her shelter. The encroaching bleakness began to suffocate her. She couldn't take it anymore. She had to stop thinking about it. She began to hum to herself. The melody of her humming became familiar and before she realized it, her frozen lips began to move and form words to a song. Her voice cracked and popped, the chilled air seeming to have caused ice sickles to cling to her vocal cords…

"_Someday  
When we are wiser  
When the world's older  
When we have learned  
I pray  
Someday we may yet live  
To live and let live  
Someday  
Life will be fairer  
Need will be rarer  
Greed will not pay  
God speed  
This bright millennium  
On its way  
Let it come  
Someday_

Someday  
Our fight will be won then  
We'll stand in the sun then  
That bright afternoon  
Tell them  
On days when the sun is gone  
We'll hang on  
Wish upon the moon

_Change will come_

_One day  
Someday_

_Soon."  
_

The last note hung in the air and Brea sat there silently before curling her knees up to her chest, wincing against the throbbing pain, and rested her head on her arms.

Silence filled the air and, for what seemed like an eternity, was all she could hear.

Abruptly, the garbage can to her right shifted and Brea's heart raced up her throat as she jumped, looking up into the face of an unfamiliar grey Mech. Blue eyes peered down at her from a grey helm adorned with a bright red…horn…thing.

Brea scrambled backwards uselessly, palms and feet and backside scrapping against the ground, and the Mech quickly put his hand up in a sigh of…surrender?

"_Please don't be scared, I'm not gonna hurt you I swear. I'm just trying to help." _Blue eyes turned soft and he pulled his arms in, trying to make himself as small as possible. "_Really, I'm a good guy!_"

Brea stared up at the Mech, something inside her stomach wrenching. Logic screamed for her to run, but her body quickly informed logic that in no way did she have the ability to do so for she was too tired, too weak, and far too cold.

"_They told me you'd die if your core temperature drops to low, and if you stay out here too long you _could _die,_" The grey Mech pleaded, sounding oddly concerned. In a soft, reassuring voice, he said, "_I'm just trying to help…_"

A dark colored hand reached out slowly to her in an attentive gesture and she stared at it. She looked up into the Mechs eyes.

_Blue_…, she thought absurdly and something in her mind went _click_.

"Do you know Mirage?" She asked.

The Mech paused for a moment before his face lit up.

"Yes!" He answered in English. "He's the one who told us about you! Sorry, I forgot about the language thing. Sometimes I just talk without thinking…We were supposed to make sure nothing suspicious was going on before the investigators got there. Lucky thing too, huh?"

Brea didn't find any humor in the sheer dumb luck of the situation and likewise was feeling very uncharitable.

"Did _you_ shoot him? The other one, I mean?" She asked.

The Mech nodded, suddenly looking very solemn, "I'm gonna get in trouble for it for sure, yeah. But he's not dead, no, just knocked out. The shoulder hit was suppose get him to let go of you, and well, it did. The second one just severed a neural receptor. He was going after you and I didn't want him to hurt you so I had to stop him somehow. He's just paralyzed temporarily. He probably won't remember a thing either. Which is good."

Brea nodded absently, rubbing her arms and trying to rejuvenate some warmth. The Mech looked at her shivering form and seemed to suddenly suffer from an epiphany, "Oh! I can help with that!"

Brea watched with child-like awe as the Mech pulled something from his sub-space pocket, the little part of her mind that had always enjoyed watching the act peaking out from beyond the layers of misery. It looked like a foil blanket of some kind, one side colored silver while the other copper. It was wrinkled faintly like tin foil but looked to be as supple as cloth. He pinched each corner between two fingers and draped it over Brea.

She recoiled away from it at first as though it were some death shroud but as soon as it touched her skin she felt an overflowing of heat resonate from it. She instantly grabbed it and pulled it around her, hungry for the warmth. Brea flinched and cried out when the grey Mech's hands appeared on either side of her and daftly picked her up, cradling her shivering form so the foil blanket covered as much of her as possible.

"Hey, it's OK," He told her when she started to fidget, "No one's gonna get another chance to hurt you. I promise."

The Mech held the little human close to his chest as he turned and started walking down the ally. Brea snuggled deeper into the foil blanket as heavenly warmth soothed the chilled skin and relaxed injured flesh and muscle. She was torn between the immeasurable relief of not freezing to death and the undeniable feeling of exposure and vulnerability.

"What's you're name?" The Mech asked curiously.

She raised her head and looked up into his blue eyes.

"Brea," She answered softly, feeling the encroaching fatigue start to take over. She felt her terror drip away as though she simply did not have the strength to fear anything.

The Mech smiled brightly, looking all the world like a child who had just found an abandon kitten. "Hello Brea. I'm Bluestreak."

Just before she slipped into an exhaust fueled slumber, Brea smiled and laughed to herself.

_Why is he named Bluestreak when there is not a spec of blue anywhere on him?_

Author's Notes (2): Hey, the song Brea was singing is called "Someday" from the movie "Hunchaback of Notre Dame". It was the song that was supposed to replace "God Help the Outcasts" but they decided to stick with it. If you wanna hear it, go to youtube and look for the one that's sung by the late Laurie Beechman. That's the good one.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

**_Author's Notes_**: Thank you so much for all the reviews and alerts and favs! I can't believe how much response this has gotten! Please enjoy this chapter.

* * *

Phase Five: Transition

Chapter Ten

* * *

She was faintly aware of her surroundings as consciousness came back to her slowly, like a dripping faucet. Her left wrist throbbed with each pulse of her heart. She felt a light weight atop of her that generated warmth through her body, relaxing her muscles and soothing the sore bruises marring her flesh. The air around her face was much cooler and it carried a strange sent she wasn't familiar with. Beneath her was a supple pad, soft to the touch, and her head was propped up slightly with the same soft cushion. Faint sounds, muffled and warped, reached her ears and slowly, she opened her eyes.

Blearily, her eyes gazed out from behind their lids. Everything was a blurry mess with colored blobs. And it was bright! Too bright!

She squinted against the stinging radiance and turned her head away, groaning when her neck protested the movement with a sharp spasm. With a disgusted snort, Brea realized that the collar still clung to her neck. One hand reached up weakly and she grabbed its edge and started yanking at it, focusing all her energy, unorganized as it all was, into pulling the damn thing off.

She heard a sound, like a faint rev, and then shuffling that grew louder.

She flinched when something hard and surprisingly warm touched her hand, fingers wrapping gently around her wrist and pulled. Her fingers slipped away from the collar's edge and she docilely allowed her hand to be guided back down to lay across her lap, atop a material that was as sinuous as cloth but which felt like tin foil and made a faint crinkle as she lay her hand down.

"Hey now, don't go hurting yourself any more then you already are," A voice said soothingly from above her. She felt a hand touch the top of her head and run down the side of her face, fingers lightly touching her chin as they tipped her head back slowly, carefully tilting it this way and that before leaving.

She opened her eyes once more, but couldn't make anything out beyond the light that blazed above with all the furry of a supernova. Almost as if sensing her discomfort, the light suddenly swung off to her left and Brea took a few moments to blink away the dancing spots of colored light prancing across her vision.

When it finally cleared, she found herself looking up into the face of an unknown Mech; red helm and blue eyes peering down at her from atop a white chest. But instead of shying away at the sight of the stranger, Brea merely gawked, her fear stymied, when she realized…he was _small_. Well, smaller then any Mech she'd seen. He was practically human sized!

"About time you woke up," He said, voice slightly teasing. "The others were starting to think maybe you were too far gone for any of our help." He grinned. "I knew you'd come around though."

Brea blinked, still not trusting her eyes to be telling the truth. Did she hit her head or something without realizing it or remembering? She shook her head as if she thought it would clear the presumptive optical illusion, but only managed to make her slightly dizzy.

She opened her eyes again to find…nope, still small. She was laying in some sort of box, as big as a standard twin sized mattress, that had been padded with a cushion, similar to her old one, and the bizarre foil blanket had been draped over her and the sides tucked in beneath her. The Mech kneeled beside her 'bed', one hand clasping the edges of the box as he gazed down at her.

Brea recoiled when the stranger suddenly reached out with one hand to her face, brushing her hair away and forcing her eye lid open in one fluid motion. She tried to shy away, squeaking indignantly and pulled her good hand free of the blankets and raised it to her face in an attempt to pry his hand away.

"Calm down, I'm not gonna hurt you," He chastised as she flinched and tried to back away from him. Easily, he swatted her hand away. Bringing his other hand over to her, the Mech gently gripped her shoulder and held her still. Her hand reached out to grasp the Mech's wrist in almost a nervous gesture as he worked. His voice was calm and reassuring as he spoke, "Just checking for any cranial damage in case you knocked something out of whack in there. Just relax. Shhh…you're fine. You're fine."

The Mech might have been smaller then any she'd seen, but he was still a good two feet taller then her and much bulkier and his hands were very large. Brea endured the examination, heart pounding in her ears. After he seemed satisfied with her one eye, he switched to the other eye, having to hold her still once more when she flinched again at his touch. When the exam was through, the Mech's hands retreated and he sat back.

"Well," he said at last, "Doesn't appear to be any sign of cranial damage. Nothing serious anyway. A little bump maybe. Thank primus for small favors, eh?"

Brea rubbed her eyes with her one free hand before blinking and turning to face him. She stared timidly, unsure what to do or how to respond.

"No one's gonna hurt you," He assured calmly, presumably reading her expression and body language, "You're safe here. Primus knows, we didn't go through all that trouble just to kill you."

He realized his words didn't have the desired effect when Brea's timid expression morphed into outright terror and he quickly backtracked, raising his hands up in a defensive motion, "No, no, no, I didn't mean that. But believe me, you're safe. I'm a medic. I'm here to help you. See?"

He pointed to a red cross on his shoulder. Brea just blinked at him, heart hammering as inane thoughts swirling around in her mind.

"Alright?" He asked, voice attentive as he tried to coax her down from near panic. He raised one hand to her and she closed her eyes shut out of pure reaction. His hand came to rest on her head as he gently patted her like an edgy cat, "I'm not gonna hurt you."

A pause.

She opened her eyes and blinked up at him. He smiled reassuringly at her.

"You…" She began, but lost the words.

He tilted his head at her. "What?"

"…y-you're…small…" Brea blurted out frankly.

The Mech stared at her for a moment before his hand retreated and his mouth pinched into a strange frown. He looked almost…offended.

"I'm not _small_," He rectified, "I'm exactly the size I was designed to be. If you don't believe me, I'll go get the others to prove it."

Brea shook her head. "No…I mean…it's just that…"

He suddenly smiled at her.

"Nah, I know what you meant," The mini-Mech interjected with a dismissive wave. "I'm not like the other Mechs you've seen before, right?"

Brea nodded.

"I get that a lot from new arrivals. Well, it's 'cause I ain't the same as them," He explained, "I'm a Micromaster. We're designed to be this size."

"Oh…sorry."

"Don't worry 'bout it. You ain't the first one to notice," He told her with a smirk. The Micromaster took one long sweeping glance at her poor tired and battered body before looking her in the eye, the smirk having been washed away, "How're you feeling? Y'know, besides the obvious. Blue brought you in half frozen and we weren't too sure if you would thaw out enough to make it past the next few joors."

Brea turned her attentions to her body and began noting what hurt where and what hurt more. As she did so, she noted another sensation deep in her stomach that seemed more pressing in her weakened state.

"I'm Ok…I guess," Brea muttered, her mind still trying to get a grasp on her situation.

"You sure?" The Mech asked dubiously, "You're pretty beaten up there."

"Nah, I'm fine…just--" She hesitated.

"What?"

Her stomach answered for her in the way of a long rumble.

"…I'm a little hungry…" She admitted timidly, face burning in a blush. She found it oddly strange why she would feel an ounce of embarrassment about the occurrence, especially in front of a Mech.

But the Mech just grinned and chuckled as he pushed himself to his feet. "Alright. Just stay here and I'll be right back, OK? Don't go anywhere."

Brea watched as the Mech walked across the floor before suddenly stopping and looking down at his feet. Brea's eyes narrowed in confusion when she realized, much to her chagrin, that they were not on the floor as she first presumed in her muzzy state, rather they were perched atop the surface of a very long, very large, counter. And to add to her surprise, the Mech _jumped _off the edge. She gasped, sitting up with a start and ignoring the sharp pains the abrupt movement sent through her.

She heard the Mech climbing down something and she heard the faint _clang_ when his metal feet touched the floor far below.

Following the fading sounds of his footsteps with her eyes, Brea watched the little Mech walk across the floor and then disappear through a large open door. She then lifted her gaze and found herself suddenly looking at the largest room she had _ever _seen. It was easily larger then a football field and twice as wide. Orange metal walls gave the room a warm atmosphere and vacant tables lined the walls on either side of her. She looked down to her right to see the counter stretch on for what seemed like forever and 10 feet above her head, parallel to the counter, was a line of overhanging cabinets. The counter was clear for the most part except for a few odd objects, many of which were beyond Brea's ability to name.

Her little box bed had been pressed into the farthest corner of the counter and beside her sat a very large lamp. The light shown brightly from its head, warm heat generating from its bulb, but had been turned away so the light did not shine on her. Using her good hand, Brea pushed and wiggled herself free of the foil blankets and into a sitting position, careful of the creaks and sores. She slowly stretched her stiff joints as much as the pain would allow. A startling jolt of pain from her left wrist made her hiss between her teeth and she gingerly pulled the appendage from under the foil blanket.

She grimaced at the sight.

Her wrist and lower hand was swollen and bruised, purple and green flesh marring her hand. She sighed to herself. "Great…"

A sound ahead of her made her jerk in surprise and she looked up to see an unfamiliar Mech walk unabatedly into the room and make his way to the counter, setting a box down atop the surface. The Mech wasn't any Micromaster; he was the normal size verity.

Eyes wide and startled, Brea slowly sunk into the folds of the foil blanket as she tried to make herself as small as possible and not draw attention to herself. The Mech looked down into the box and began rummaging through its content when it casually glanced towards her and its eyes seem to widen when it found her awake. She stiffened as its eyes locked onto her.

_Oh my god…_

"Ah…" The Mech said in mild surprise, "So you're awake then, hm?"

Brea gulped nervously and shied away, pressing her back deeper into the cushion under her, wishing she could simply sink into it and disappear. Too fast, everything was happening too fast. Her mind spun with having to cope with being in the company of yet another strange Mech who intentions were thoroughly unknown.

The Mech regarded her with a long-suffering stare and he sighed, abandoning the box and walking closer to her. He seemed to grow larger as he approached. She blinked and stared at the new, large, Mech with trepidation as he reached to the side beyond her vision and grabbed a stool, pulling it closer and sitting down in front of her. She jumped when he reached out and grabbed the edge of her little box and pulled it towards him slowly so as to not jar her. Her heart thrummed in her rib cage, sending vibrations through her belly and issuing faint throbs of pain from her abused anatomy. Crossing his arms over his boxy white chest, the Mech studied Brea for a moment, blue eyes peering out from under a black horn thingy that looked strikingly similar to the red one the Mech from before, the one called Bluestreak, had on his helm.

"How do you feel?" He asked.

She shrugged timorously, still trying her level best to dissolve into the cushion.

_You're scary…_she thought inanely. _Go away. _

His eyes narrowed incredulously.

"When you were brought in you're body temperature was twelve units below normal parameters," the Mech elaborated, "Were you trying to get yourself killed running off like that?"

Brea blinked in confusion for a moment before averting her eyes, having no ready answer for him.

"Show me your wrist," He ordered abruptly.

Brea flinched when he spoke, frazzled nerves keeping her on edge, and blinked up at him. "…Huh?"

The Mech's eyes narrowed further at her and he reached out in a quick motion with one red hand to gently nudge her left arm. "Show me your damaged wrist."

Wary of the Mech's narrowing eyes, she obediently extended her injured appendage out for him to see. One red finger swooped under her wrist to support it as the large stranger studied the bruises. "Does it hurt at all?"

"A little…yeah," Brea lied. It didn't hurt a little, it hurt a _lot_. She couldn't suppress a wince when the red finger under her hand lifted a little higher, sending a variety of unpleasant sensations up her arm.

It didn't go unnoticed by the Mech who sent her a look before huffing a short dry laugh and replying sardonically, "Really, is that so?"

A high pitch mewing escaped her as the finger tilted the hand this way and that, causing sharp pains to shoot up her arm. One strong spike in particular made her hiss painfully through her teeth.

"The endoskeleton structure is intact," the Mech muttered, making Brea curious as to whether he was talking to her or to himself. "But the radial collateral carpal ligament has beens stretched. It might take some time to heal. I will look into fabricating a brace for it."

His eyes left her wrist for a moment and took a sweeping glance of her and his eyes narrowed sharply. Brea suddenly felt entrapped in his eyes.

The red finger left her arm and gently pinched a corner of the foil blanket, pulling it away from her.

"What did all this?" He asked, voice stern.

Brea pressed her legs together, face heating in a slight blush when her form was suddenly exposed. She stared. "…What?"

"What gave you these injuries?"

Brea looked down at herself and saw the full extent of her wounds. Both arms were covered in dark patches of damaged tissue and her knees were scrapped along with her forearms. The dress she wore was torn, dirty, and ripped at the hem, revealing that her legs also adorned similar bruises as her arms. Brea felt a sickening feeling rise inside her when she thought back to how she had gotten the bruises and lowered her head, blinking rapidly to keep the sudden stinging in her eyes away. When she did not answer him, the Mech made a low sound, deep in his chest, and repeated the question with one amendment, "_Who_ gave you these injuries?"

A heavy pause.

"…he did," Brea said so softly that she didn't know if the Mech had even heard her.

"You're owner?" He asked.

A burst of anger swept through her and Brea wanted nothing more then to shout at him for his choice of words. Her _owner_? _No one_ owned her! She wasn't a _slave_!

But instead of speaking her mind and correcting the presumptive Mech…she merely nodded, miserably.

A harsh noise forced her to look up at him. His face was scrunched into a scowl, blue eyes flashing. For a fleeting moment, Brea feared he might go berserk, but he abruptly turned to level his glare at the cabinets above her. Reaching out to open one, he spent several long minutes rummaging through them, muttering darkly to himself, before he pulled back and shut the door with perhaps a little more force then what was necessary. Pinched between his two large digits…was a roll of gauze?

Brea blinked at it stupidly before he abruptly dropped it in her lap.

"When Fixit gets back he'll wrap your wrist for you," He said, the anger from his voice having disappeared. "He's better suited for these kinds of things," He raised one hand and wiggled his fingers, "Small hands."

Brea nodded numbly.

"Was he the small one…who was in here before?" Brea asked.

The Mech nodded. "His name is Fixit; my assistant. Treating humans isn't exactly easy for average sized Mechs. Better to have Micromasters around to handle the dainty stuff."

Brea nodded her understanding and then froze as her brain went _waitaminute_…

"…you treat humans?" She asked. "So is this like…a hospital?"

"No, not really," The Mech answered, "The humans who come here aren't brought here because they've been injured, even though the majority of them are or they're ill. They've been rescued."

"…rescued?"

The Mech nodded.

"Some have been rescued from abusive homes, a couple have been bought off the market, and the rest were smuggled out of euthanizing compounds."

Brea nodded slowly, the sick feeling inside rising again.

"But you," He said pointedly with a smirk, "Are the first runaway we've gotten."

She pondered that statement before frowning.

"I didn't _run away_…" She argued.

"From what Bluestreak told me, you certainly tried," The Mech remarked. His voice was incredulous when he added pointedly, "And almost got yourself killed in the process."

She frowned.

"Oh…that. Well there was a crazy robot trying to kill me so it wasn't like I planned it or anything. So it doesn't really count…"

The large Mech smiled before suddenly turning and glancing towards the door. Likewise, Brea also turned to see what and where he was looking.

The little Mech from before, Fixit, walked into the room, holding something in his hands that Brea couldn't quite make out from where she was.

"_You'll need to wrap her hand_," The Mech told the little 'Bot in Cybertronian. "_She's_ _sprained the slag out of it_."

"_Sure thing Ratchet," _Fixit replied.

"_Also, see if we have anything we could use to fabricate a brace. She might end up making it worse if we just leave it bandaged."_

"_I think I have something we could use…"_

As the Micromaster approached them, the larger Mech bent down and gave the smaller Mech a helpful hand up to the counter.

"Thanks," Fixit said and made his way towards Brea. As he neared her little box bed, he gave her an encouraging smile and kneeled down next to her. He handed her a lump of something that had been wrapped in the same type of supple foil cloth that her blanket was made of. "That should hold you for a few joors. Just make sure to take it slow. We don't need you to overfill your fuel tank and start discharging unprocessed fuel everywhere."

He seemed to grimace at the mental image.

With her right hand, Brea peeled the foil cloth from the football sized lump. As she began to unwrap it, a familiar smell filled the air and she quickly tore off the remaining foil with a fervent incredulity.

_It can't be…_

She stared at the brown loaf sitting in her lap. She smiled.

_It is!_

"Where'd you get this?" She asked disbelievingly the Mech beside her, pure astonishment plastered across her face.

_There's _no way_ alien robots know how to make bread! _

Fixit couldn't help but smile and he shrugged at her question, "From the pantry. Antoinette makes them whenever she has the means. You needed the carbohydrates so I swiped one."

"She's going to kill you for that," Ratchet muttered casually.

"She can try," Fixit replied with a laugh.

Brea eagerly pulled off a large piece of the (still warm) bread and greedily fed it to her mouth.

The smaller Mech scowled.

"Hey, didn't I just say to take it slow?" Fixit snapped.

Brea glanced at the Micromaster and obligingly slowed her eager devouring of the bread. Satisfied that she wasn't going to choke on the food-stuff, Fixit turned his gaze to her bruised and swollen wrist. Deftly, he reached down and picked up the gauze and started to unroll it.

"Give me your hand," He ordered. Brea obediently extended her wounded hand to the Micromaster who gently took it in his and began to wrap it in the gauze. Brea sat perfectly still, munching on the bread, while Fixit bandaged her up.

She flinched and pulled her hand away when Fixit wrapped the gauze too tight causing a pain to shoot up her arm.

"Ah!" She hissed.

He just reached out and snagged the hand again, "Stay still."

"It hurts! It's too tight."

"It has to be tight," He told her. "When Caleb finally gets that little ice box thing to actually work we'll be able to ice down the swelling. But for now you'll have to wait and settle for the gauze."

Brea moaned uncomfortably, taking another bite of bread, and endured the treatment.

* * *

Author's notes #2: Kind of a silly chapter. lol


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Wow! The feedback I get on this is awesome! Thank you all so very much! And thank you to Silver Fox from Metellus Cursor group for the free advertisement. lol. I can't believe this reached 100 reviews! Awesomeness. Thank you everyone!

* * *

Phase six: Sanctuary

Chapter Eleven

"_No_," Fixit said flatly.

"_Oh come on Fix! It's just one time_!"

"_I said no, Stakeout_."

"_What if I gave you five credits_?"

Fixit snorted.

"_Ten_?"

"_No_."

"_Alright, fifteen, but that's my final offer_."

"_Stakeout, I think you're missing the point_."

The blue Micromaster huffed, splaying his arms wide in gesture, "_What point? That you're being a frag-head?_"

"_Grow up, you protoform._"

"_C'mon bro! Just once! All I need is a few breems and it'll be over and Prowl will be non-the-wiser!_"

"_If I wanted to risk my life over pointless pursuits, I'd hang out with Sideswipe. Besides, I have a patient to look after._"

Brea watched the two Micromasters curiously from top the counter, peeking over the edge, as they bickered below her in Cybertronian. Neither of them seemed have to notice her prying and she certainly wasn't one to inform them. Watching them banter back and forth was entertaining, and only God knew how much she could use a good laugh.

The new one, Stakeout, was apparently _one_ of Fixit's brothers (the other two were motioned in passing but their names escaped her). And _apparently_, Stakeout was one Mech who favored delinquency. The blue armored Micromaster had stormed into the room, begging Fixit to call a special meeting with someone named _Prowl_ so Stakeout and some others could use the halls as a racing circuit without getting into trouble. Why? Because they was bored.

From the way Fixit refused, Brea had the impression that he was probably the more mature one of the two and possibly the whole of them.

"_It's funny you should mention 'Sides_," Stakeout grinned, "_He's the one who came up with the idea._"

Fixit growled. "_Of course…_"

It was then that the red and white Micromaster noticed the two human eyes peering over the edge of the counter down at them.

"Oh, Brea!" He smiled up at her, switching from Cybertronian to English. "We didn't wake you did we?"

Brea raised her head and looked down at the pair. "No," She said, "I was already awake."

Stakeout studied the human girl above him curiously. "So is this the new one Blue brought in?" he asked.

"Yep," Fixit replied. He looked back up at Brea, "How's your hand, kiddo?"

Brea lifted her bandaged left hand for the Mech to see. "It's a little better. Still hurts though."

"Caleb fixed the ice-box, I'll bring some up later and we'll see if we can get that swelling down a bit OK?"

Brea nodded timidly. "Ok."

"Go on and get back into bed," He told her, "You shouldn't be walking around just yet."

Brea frowned down at the Mech.

"But I'm tired of sleeping," Brea argued. It was true. Sleeping was pretty much all she had done since waking up. That and eating and drinking and other…natural processes.

Stakeout snickered while his brother sent an unamused frown up at his patient. "Get in bed before I call Ratchet and have him weld you in."

"And he'll do it too." Stakeout a half told/warned her with a smirk as one arm rising to point a finger at her.

"Doctor's orders," Fixit told her, pinning her with a 'do it or else' look.

Reluctantly and with a sigh, she rose from the edge of the counter, body aching resentfully, and hobbled back to her box bed. As she settled in, she overheard the two brother strike up another conversation, their voices drifting up to her from the floor level.

"_So what's verdict on that one, then_?" She heard Stakeout ask.

"_She's dented and dinged, but otherwise alright. She came in with a dangerously low core temperature, but we were able to bring it back up. Her prognosis is looking good, but it might be too soon to make predictions. She's only been here for eight joors and she's only been online for three and a half of them._"

"_So what'd Ratchet say?_"

"_She's restricted to the infirmary for another ten joors to finish recovering and for observation,_" Fixit replied, "_Then we'll bring her around and get her use to the place and start the assimilation process. She's domesticated so we'll need to take it real slow._"

"_Domesticated. Ha. None of these humans are anywhere near _domesticated_. Did you see Rodney tackle Seawatch last orn? It was hilarious!_"

"_Domesticated doesn't mean their tame, Stakeout. It's a term we use to describe humans who're brought in as pets. Y'know… like Kimberly._"

A pause.

"_Ah. Right._"

"_They can have a lot of psychological and social problems. Most of the domesticated ones are kept solitarily with little to no social interaction with their own species and kept under total submission. After a time, it starts to mess with their heads. We don't know when or how long she's been captive so we won't know the extent of the damage until later, after we see how she reacts to the group._"

"_So why aren't the others like that then_?"

"_They were kept with other humans during captivity. We're not entirely sure how human minds work, but we do know social isolation is very detrimental to their psychological stability, especially for the younger humans like Brea there. And stress only makes it worse. Humans are social creatures, they need other humans for support._"

"_Maybe we should organize some sort of social gathering then,_" Stakeout recommended slyly. "_Like a race. All we'd need to do is distract Prowl for few…_"

She heard Fixit sigh in aggravation. "_No Stakeout._"

"_Oh come on!_"

* * *

Having been forcibly bed-ridden by her new Cybertronian care-takers, Brea was resigned in spending her time watching the two medics work.

Fixit had brought her some ice for her wrist and after a little while, the swelling went down and they re-bandaged it, setting it with a metal brace that encased her wrist. The bruising was still there, but she could see an improvement. It still hurt like the dickens though.

It was curious to watch how the two interacted with one another when considering their size difference. She assumed that this would pose some sort of problem. Fixit was a fraction of Ratchet's size, but the larger Mech never treated his assistant in anyway that even acknowledge that there was a size difference between them; except whenever Fixit needed help getting onto high places like the counter or a table, but most of the time he used the strategically placed chairs or boxes to reach his desired goal. They seemed to have a smoothly operating system between them that appeared to be working.

Ratchet was fiddling around with some strange apparatus of unknown function while Fixit gathered and sorted seemingly random pieces of mechanical paraphernalia from various drawers situated in the wall above the counter that seemed to have been set there for his use.

Their attention however was diverted to the infirmary door that hissed open automatically as a presence drew near.

Sound of clanging foots steps that accompanied larger Mechs' strolls reverberated softly in the air. Brea heard the newcomer before she saw him due to Ratchet's bulk blocking her view and she canted her neck to the side in an attempt to see.

"_Ratchet_," A mild voice said, stepping into Brea's line of vision. The Mech was the same height as Ratchet, but his chest was more prominent and two large panels jetted out from behind his shoulders like wings while pristine black and white metal covered him from tip to toe. Brea blinked when she looked into his face and noted that he too was adorned with a horn-thingy (_chevron_, Fixit had called it) like Ratchet and Bluestreak. And like Bluestreak, the Mech's chevron was colored red, giving it a stark contrast to his otherwise drab paint job. "_How is the intelligence retrieval progressing?_"

The medic snorted and returned his attention to the counter.

"_Nonexistent,_" He replied frankly. "_She's still recovering._"

The other Mech's eyes narrowed slightly and the panels on his back twitched.

"_We need any information the human may have. Its situation is unique to the others in our care and could give us the upper hand in this issue. Information retrieval and analysis is our most pressing concern._"

The medic's internal systems made a sound akin to a car revving its engine, causing Brea to start. She sent a nervous glance Ratchet's way but no one seemed to be paying attention to her.

"_Upper hand or no, she's needs to rest and get settled in before we start interrogating her. Our most pressing concern is her _health_._"

"_We haven't evaluated her condition in depth yet,_" Fixit told the new Mech with a more persuasive tone, "_We don't want to scare her or she won't be able to tell us anything. It'll be easier once she's recovered a little and gotten use to this place. It just takes some time._"

The winged Mech seemed to take a moment to consider the other two Mechs' words and sighed. "_We need the information as soon as possible._"

"_I realize that, Prowl, but we have to be more delicate with the domesticated ones,_" Fixit replied, "_For all we know she could be mentally unstable. We don't want a repeat of what happened to Kimberly._"

_Mentally unstable?_ Brea thought indignantly.

The dichromatic Prowl looked resigned and nodded.

"_How long until it is cleared for questioning?_" The Mech asked, tone more appeased.

"_If all goes well, she should be good within the next orn,_" Ratchet replied. "_If anything goes wrong however, it will be longer. Until we know how she'll respond upon being introduced back into a somewhat familiar social setting with her own species we can't give any specifics. I will keep you up to date with all available information._"

"_Please do_."

Brea couldn't help but feel a little offended at the way they spoke about her, as if she wasn't even there and she was some frail little thing who would break into pieces if they asked her something. She had half a mind to tell them off, in Cybertronian too, but something made her decide against it and to keep her little secret just that; a secret. She might need some leverage in case something went sour.

These Mechs seemed nice and more pleasant then any she'd had any previous encounters with, but if she had learned anything since arriving on Cybertron, it was that nothing was as it appeared. She wasn't ready to jump on the bandwagon just yet. But they had said something that peaked her interest. Other humans. The thought of being around her own kind again sent her spirits through the roof. She really wanted was to talk to another person, to interact with someone her size she could related to and maybe share their experiences. Had she been around another human at all during her captivity, maybe she would have had an easier time coping. Being cooped up in that office for so long, she wondered if maybe they were right to be cautious about introducing her to the other humans. For all she knew she could suddenly break down in tears and hug one of them and refuse to let go.

She muffled a giggle at the resulting image, preferring not to draw the Mechs' attentions. Nevertheless, Fixit glanced her way and when he found her watching them all, he smiled at her.

"Sorry Brea," He apologized, "We were just talking business. This is Prowl; he's the top administrator here. Prowl, this is Brea."

Brea blinked and glanced over at the Mech, sending him a cheerful smile in a half hearted attempt to cover up the fact she had been listening in. His stoic eyes watched her from across the room and she was unable to keep her proverbial devil from popping up on her shoulder and snarking.

_He _looks_ like an administrator…I bet he's a jerk._

And then her proverbial angel popped up and put her two cents in.

_Oh, hoo-ha. I'm sure he's perfectly pleasant. _

"Uh…Hi…" Brea said with a little wave.

The Mech only glanced her way briefly before turning back to Ratchet.

"_Please contact me when we can begin the information retrieval process._"

And with that, he turned and left the room. The devil giggled and turned to the angel.

_What was that about being 'perfectly pleasant'?_

The Angel glared. _Ah, shut up._

* * *

"_An_ accident?" A voice bellowed, startling Brea from a sleep she didn't remember falling into. "_Accidents are results of unpreventable circumstances. This was very preventable_!"

"_I assure you Ratchet, it was—_"

"_Quiet! And hold still_."

Brea sat up and blinked blearily around her for moment as the world came into focus. Glancing over to her left towards the various large tables situated throughout the infirmary, she saw Ratchet hunching over another Mech who was laying atop one such table. Sparks flew from where Ratchet was focusing his attention, but she couldn't make out exactly what with him blocking her view.

She studied the Mech lying prone on the table and saw white and blue. From the medic's posture, she assumed he was welding something. Said thought then brought up a shiver when she imagined how painful being welded would be.

_But they are metal…maybe it's like getting stitches…But then again, stitches hurt too. _

The Mech didn't move at all, but Brea guessed that if she saw his face he would probably be grimacing against the pain. If there was any at all.

She stifled a yawn and stretched.

The sizzling hisses of Ratchet's welding torch died away and the Mech stepped back to examine his work.

"_You're aim may be off for a little until we can get more supplies and I can replace that transition cog, but it'll do for now_," The medic turned to put his tools away. "_It won't matter much seeing as you won't be shooting anything for a while anyway._"

The Mech on the table sat up and sung his legs over the edge, turning his head down and examining his shoulder. "_I may be needed to_—"

"_You won't need to do anything. Blue can take over for you_."

"_I do not mean any ill towards Bluestreak when I say this, but he is not capable enough to do my job_."

"_I'm_ _not arguing with you on that, but it is better then nothing_."

The Mech frowned.

"_I disagree. He is far too young and undisciplined for espionage. He'd kill himself and compromise the security of the compound. What about Jazz?_"

"_He's needed here until Prowl can find some more volunteers_. _Optimus has been asking some of the old crew if they'll donate some of their time or even come on full, but most are needed where they are or don't have the monetary cushion to volunteer. Prowl seems to think we may be able to persuade Hound, but I'm not betting any credits. The entire thing's been going to the pits. We might not be able to stay a secret for very much longer._"

"_How long until we can secure supplies?_"

"_Who knows. We were supposed to get some more last orn, but Jazz had a close call and couldn't rig their inventory kiosk. And we don't have the funds to buy off the market right now. We're scrapping by right now until he can figure out their new security protocols. We need to thank Annie for that garden idea of hers. That little mud patch bought us some time._"

"_She is rather insightful. Makes you wonder how they could even think of euthanizing her._"

Ratchet snorted and shook his head.

"_A lot of stuff makes me wonder. It's sick what they're doing to the poor slaggers,_" Ratchet sighed."_If you could have gotten into Xeon's office a little sooner, things might have been different. We might've been able to save a lot more humans and none of this would have to be so…underground._"

Brea felt her insides drop and the sickening feeling rise again.

"_We cannot dwell on what might have been. It was too much of a risk at the time with Xeon's security protocols in place. We had to wait._"

_Oh god, please no… _

"_Still, Mirage. You could've talked to her and explained what was going on. Get her on our side or something. I doubt he'd managed to brain wash her that much. Even Sideswipe managed to convince Kimberly to escape and she's the most fidgety little glitch I've ever met! Besides, I--,_" Ratchet turned towards the counter and stopped mid-sentence when he saw Brea there, her eyes focused on his face plate. He stared back, the look of imploring denial and absolute horror on her small face bemusing him. His optics narrowed. "Brea? What's wrong?"

The blue and white Mech, Mirage, turned his head and his blue optics studied her for a long moment, seeming to recognize her instantly. It was funny, a small part of her brain realized, she imagined seeing the mysterious Mech who had helped save her would be a joyous, exciting reunion of sorts. Instead, she felt ill and digusted…at herself.

Mirage was not slow on the uptake and his face softened in remorse. Brea turned to look at him, sending him the same look she'd sent to Ratchet.

_Please…_she thought, shaking her head. _Please tell me that stuff isn't true…oh god please…I didn't… _

The medic turned to glance at Mirage with a look that asked 'what do you know that I don't?'

"_She heard you_," Mirage answered Ratchet's silent query, his voice soft and apologetic.

Ratchet stared incredulously at the Mech, "…_So_?"

Mirage glanced at him and elaborated, "_She can speak and understand Cybertronian, Ratchet_. _She _heard_ you._"

Ratchet's body stiffened and when he turned back around to face Brea, he saw organic eyes piercing into him from across the room and he couldn't help but feel a swell of guilt.

"_It's…all my fault_," She breathed as thin streams of liquid dripped from her wide eyes. "…it's all my fault…"

* * *

A/N 2: Poor Brea. Man the stuff I put my OCs through. I wonder if I'm liable for abuse.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Almost forgot to post this. lol. Well, happy 4th of July everyone! And thanks again for all the wonderful support. Please enjoy!

Phase six: Sanctuary

Chapter Twelve

* * *

There were a lot of thing Brea had felt bad about in her life, like that Squirrel that decided to commit suicide in front of her car during Driver's Ed in the 9th grade, but none of them compared to her current guilt that threatened to overwhelm her. Her mind was blank; her very thoughts seeming too timid to consider their usual jubilant confusion that often clouded her mind in similar situations. All that time she had spent being Xeon's little guard dog…protecting his sins from those who wanted to expose it all; all those people who were probably dead because of her. People like her, abducted from their homes and families to be shipped to Cybertron. All the people that could have been rescued and brought here…to safety.

She hated herself. Oh God how she hated herself…

Her family had always joked about her bouts of absent mindedness or the cloud she always seemed to be in. It was always a moment of hilarity whenever she jarringly crashed into walls or tripped on air because she was engrossed in a book or magazine. Before she went away to college, her Father had jokingly wondered aloud how she was going to survive on her own when she couldn't even find matching socks in the morning. It had always been funny, a playful jib. Now it was a very real, very big weakness. Her mind wasn't mechanical; she didn't see two objects and try to find what linked them. But now that everything had been revealed, a vague outline of the events that had come together to conspire her abduction and the occupation of Earth, she felt stupid and slow. She felt as though she was suddenly liable for so many atrocities…all because she didn't pay attention.

Why didn't she see it all sooner? Why didn't she do something about it? Who knew how many people had probably died because of her…The thought made her ill and she moaned, sinking deeper into herself. A large hand, hard yet reassuringly warm, appeared on her shoulder and gently rocked her as if to get her attention.

"Brea?" A face slide into her vision, but she didn't seem to really see it. The hand rocked her again, a little more forcefully.

"Come on kiddo, say something. Don't go all mute on us now." There was real concern in his voice. "Brea! C'mon talk to me."

Slowly, Brea raised her head, eyes filled to the brim with tears and she slowly released a shaky breath. Her eyes drifted upwards until they met with the bright blue optics of Fixit. She bit her lip tears streaming, "…I'm sorry."

Blue eyes watched her and his other hand reached up, gently wiping away the droplets of tears. "For what?"

A pause.

"…for _everything_..." A fresh stream of tears ran down her cheeks and the face suddenly scowled. The other hand appeared on her other shoulder and the face _leered_ at her.

"Stop it. Now you listen to me, girl," Fixit said uncharacteristically stern, almost angry, "And you listen good; _none_ of this is you're fault. It doesn't do anyone any good so why are you beating yourself up like this? You didn't know what was going on. Besides, even if you had, what could you have done? No offense, but you humans are weak and easily damaged. One little slip could severely cripple you. And Xeon's ruthless. He would have killed you if you tried to do anything without a second thought. Mechs a thousand times stronger and more capable then you have tried and failed." He paused and then said more kindly, "All things considered, you did the right thing."

Somehow, his words were of little comfort. "But I should have known…"

Fixit shook her again, hard. She winced as her head yanked at the sharp motion. He had her attention now.

"No. It wouldn't have mattered. There wasn't anything you could have done to stop what's been going on for a while," Fixit said, optics narrow, "So why are you doing this? Why are you sitting here, wallowing in your own guilt about something you could have done nothing about? What are you achieving?"

_But I could have done something… _She thought to herself._ Even if just a little…I could have._

Brea didn't answer him, just sank into herself a little farther. He sighed.

"Look," He said more gently, "I can understand why you feel bad, but instead of being all depressed, why don't, y'know, turn that energy into something constructive? Like…" He paused, taking a moment to ponder, "Well, you can speak Cybertronian right?"

Brea nodded weakly. "Xeon…he taught me…"

"Well, you must have heard him say some things, right?" Fixit asked, smiling. "Things we could use against him. So you can tell Prowl and the others what you heard and they'll bring it up to the Senate when the case is all put together. This way you would be compensating for everything else."

"I…guess. But if I had just…done something. A lot of people would still be alive."

"Maybe," Fixit replied. "Maybe not. Who knows, you might have saved a lot of people by doing what you did for all we know. Don't blame yourself for the bad things others have done, Brea." He placed a hand on her head, smiling, "You're a good kid. If you could have, I know you would have done something to stop 'em. We all would. But we can't change the past. No matter how much we wish we could…"

"I know…but I still feel really bad…I mean…" She felt new tears rise inside her as she came to a sudden realization why she felt so horrible.

What if her compliance to Xeon had doomed her family? What if they had been captured too and sent here? What if they were amongst the numbers that her actions had condemned? Or were they still on Earth, being hunted down like animals? They could be dead! What if they _were _here on Cybertron, where were they?

But her epiphany was cut short by a warm voice.

"Brea," Fixit smiled and slipped his hands under her arms and lifted her out of the little bed, setting her on her feet in front of him, "There's a lot you can help us with, like I said. Prime and Prowl and a bunch of us are putting a case together to bring before the Senate. We need to prove to them that Xeon and all his cronies did something wrong. _Illegal_."

She looked up into his face and found an odd sense of composure there. She felt her frazzled nerves begin to settle.

"You could give us a big advantage here." He continued, "But we need you to be responsive and cooperative. None of this…" he gestured vaguely to her face, not quite sure what to call it, "…_leaking_ stuff."

Brea couldn't help but laugh and she reached up to scrub at her moist cheeks. Fixit smiled and placed an arm around her shoulders.

"You can't change what's already happened," he said, "Believe me, there are a lot of us Mechs who wish we could change the past, but we can't. As much as we wish we could, we just can't. All we can do is look forward and try to make sure we don't screw up again. Right?"

Brea nodded, smiling weakly. "…right."

"Good." He paused for a second, seeming to consider something. "Y'know, I think you're recovered enough to see the others. Forget what Ratchet said," He declared, "Some socializing with other humans might chipper you up some, Hm?"

She didn't answer right away. For so long it seemed as though that was all she wanted, but now in the light of what her time in Xeon's office meant in the grand scheme of things, she wasn't sure if she was up to it. What if they found out that she was the reason Mirage couldn't successfully infiltrate the office? What if they hated her? Brea wasn't sure if she could take that kind of rejection.

She looked down at the floor with a forlorn expression. "…maybe…"

"C'mon, they don't bite. Well…Izzy does, but he's just playing most of the time."

"How many are there?" Brea asked, her inner desire to mingle with other humans popping up despite of her fears. Despite everything, it was what she wanted.

The Mech considered, using his fingers to tally. "Well let's see…there's Annie, Becky, Isaac (but we call him Izzy) and Zoë, Craig, Preston, Caleb, Sean, and Rodney. And Kimberly."

Taking a deep breath, Brea decided.

"I think I'd like that," She replied, her voice popping and croaking like a frog.

"Great! I'll give Jazz a call and have him bring ya down to the Sanctuary."

* * *

Brea was fidgeting. She picked at her fingernails, digging the dirt from under them, and trying hard to quell the growing nervousness.

The doors to the infirmary opened with a sudden hiss, startling her, and a black and white Mech strolled inside. Upon seeing the black and white paint job, Brea's mind automatically brought up the image of the stoic Prowl, but she quickly erased the mental image upon seeing the Mech's face. He didn't look a thing like Prowl. For one thing, he had no optics, well…he had a visor, and his general body structure was different, with no wing panels or red chevron. And also, he was _smiling_.

"Hey there, Fix," the Mech greeted Fixit cheerfully as he entered. Brea couldn't help but notice the way he walked, it was almost like he was bouncing on his feet, but just so happened to be walking. And he made it look so smooth, cool. It was almost like he was dancing.

The smaller medic was standing near the smaller cabinets set inside the walls of the counter and turned to issue his own greetings.

"Hello Jazz," Fixit replied. "Thanks for coming up."

"No problem. I've been looking for an excuse to come up here and see the little guy anyway," Jazz replied, smiling widening when he looked over to find Brea sitting on the counter across the way. "Oh-! Excuse me, little _lady_."

Brea felt the edges of her mouth twitch in a small smile. _I like him. _

"She's been wanting to see the others," Fixit added with a grin, "I think she might be getting lonely up here with nothing but us mean old medics for company."

Jazz laughed as he crossed the room to stand near the counter, placing one hand atop it and leaning on the arm casually. "I_ bet_. Ol' Ratchet hasn't blown yer hearin' yet has he?"

Brea shook her head.

"That's good to know," Jazz tilted his head, his smile seeming to grow smaller as he got a better look at her. Something crossed his face for a split second, but Brea didn't catch it. "No much of a talker are ya?"

The question caught her off guard and she paused and blinked. "I…uh…"

"Nah, she's just shy," Fixit replied walking up beside her and patting her on the head teasingly. She swatted the Mech's hand away with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment.

Jazz looked back down at Brea, bending low so he was more at her level. "Alright. So what's your name then, little lady?"

"Brea," she answered, feeling her face heat in a blush.

"Well then, hello Brea," Jazz said, extending his finger towards her as if to shake hands, "And welcome to our humble compound."

Feeling more then a little silly, Brea reached out with her own hand and shook the metal giant's finger. "T-thank you…"

The Mech's smile suddenly disappeared and his finger rose and gently nudged at her collar. "What's this?"

Brea tilted her head down as if to get a better look at the collar around her neck, which she had completely forgotten about, despite the fact it was physically impossible. She brushed her hands across the metal and was about to reply when Fixit jumped in.

His optics narrowed and he growled, "Her collar."

"Oh. So are we gonna get around to removin' it soon or…?" Jazz left his question open ended.

Fixit scowled. "Not right now. We can't remove it."

Brea blinked up at the medic in surprise. _What? I didn't know that…_

"Is it stuck?" Jazz asked.

"No, it's one of those fragging sealed collars. Like the one Kimberly had. But we don't have the sequence for hers."

"Ah." A pause. "So how're you gonna get it off?"

"Not sure. If worse comes to worse we might have to split it open with a low powered torch."

"Y-you can't get it off?" She asked, feeling alarmed at the news and even more so of their recommended method of removal. She had sudden flash backs of the processing facility when she first came to Cybertron before she forcibly shoved them out of her cognitive thoughts. "How come?"

Fixit seemed to regard her with a look of sympathy before gesturing vaguely to the collar.

"Touch the back of it and tell me if you feel anything," he instructed.

Brea did as she was told, reaching back and running her hands around the metal. Nothing, It was all smooth metal, no grooves or notches. And she suddenly understood. There was no where for it to open. There was no facet to unlatch or buckle to undo or anything! She felt a little panicky.

"Those collars are designed to be almost impossible to remove," Fixit explained. "They carry a hefty price tag too so the fragger that put that on you didn't want you going anywhere. That's for sure."

"Typical Kaon engineering," Jazz muttered sourly.

"But...you said they're _almost_ impossible to remove…so there's a way. Right?"

Fixit sighed and shrugged. "Well…yes, but it's more complicate then that," He explained. "The lock is activated by a certain sonic wavelength. It will give way at a certain frequency; trouble is that we don't know the frequency and testing for it would be irresponsible. Most certainly dangerous."

"Why?"

"There are some frequencies that can do serious harm to a human's systems. There's another human here named Kimberly. She had a collar like that too, but Sideswipe managed to get the sequence to it and we got it off. But we don't have yours," He explained. "It's simply not worth the risk testing for it. We'll just have to find some other way of getting it off."

"No torches or welders." She said flatly.

"We'll think of something," He said, sending her an encouraging smile. "So, are you ready to go meet the other then?"

Brea's face immediately lit up. "Yes!"

* * *

Somehow, she felt as though she should be walking under her own power. But logic reminded her that it would likely take ten times longer to reach their destination had she been 'walking under her own power' and would probably take even longer considering her body was feeling the 'still healing' effects of Xeon's wrath. So she resigned herself to be carried through the halls of the compound by Jazz without complaint. The Mech held her cupped in both hands, close to his body. His canter didn't jostle her as much as it should have given the speed at which he toddled, but Brea wasn't complaining. She was grateful that his careful yet quick steps prompted only the barest ache from her bruised ribs.

Even though Fixit (a medic) had given her clearance to go see the other humans, Jazz had asked the Micromaster to call him with a warning if Ratchet should return before his shift started so he could get a running start. The two Mech had a laugh, but then turned serious as they left, Jazz making sure Fixit would indeed send warning ahead.

While the concept bewildered her, Brea supposed that had Ratchet been present for the meeting, she would not have been allowed to leave the infirmary at all. But if both Fixit and Jazz were both in on it, she doubted any repercussions would be directed at her if they were found out. She knew she should have felt remorse at the thought of using the two Mechs essentially as scapegoats, but really…she didn't. Ratchet was scary when he yelled she had learned early on. At that moment, she was just happy to be getting the chance to talk with other humans again. To her, it was well worth the risk.

"Everyone been treatin' you alright?" Jazz asked, bringing Brea out of her thoughts.

Brea tilted her head up t him. "Yeah, everyone's been really nice so far…" she paused and frowned when a memory surfaced, "Well…actually there was one guy…"

"Hm?"

"Some guy named Prowl came in and well…he wasn't _mean_…just a little…"

"Indifferent?" Jazz said with a grin. "Cold? Stoic? Little too heavy on the logic circuits?"

"…_ye-e-e-ah_."

The Mech chuckled. "He's always been like that, as long as I've known 'im. And that's a _long_ time, understand. But don't get the wrong impression of 'im though; he's one of the most loyal Mech's I've ever worked with. Aside from Prime, he's probably the most respected too, at least of our group. Just don't get on his bad side. Worse place to be in my opinion; except for maybe the wrong end of a charged blaster."

Brea locked onto the familiar and yet unfamiliar name the Mech had mentioned. She had heard that name before…somewhere…

"Who's Prime?"

Jazz glanced down at her with an incredulous expression that gave her the impression she might have just asked the stupidest question she could have possibly asked; like she might as well have just asked the Pope 'Who is Jesus?'

"You don't know…?" He asked slowly.

Brea shook her head, feeling a twinge of awkwardness. "…is that…bad?"

Jazz seemed to come out of his initial shock and just chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, it's all fine. I guess it's understandable that you don't know about the Primes. Considering where you've been and all," He replied. "But anyway, I was talking about Optimus."

"What? So, does that mean there's more then one Prime?"

"Well, yes and no. We only have one Prime right now," Jazz explained. "_Optimus_ Prime. Well, I say we only have one, but we can only _have_ one at a time really. When one Prime dies, another is chosen."

"So is he like a King or something?"

"Nah, nothing like that. We have a Coalition government, not a Monarchy," Jazz said, "Traditionally, Primes are leaders of some sort; sometimes military, sometimes civil. It's really up to them, wherever they feel they can do the most good. Some past Primes were more like figure heads or spiritual leaders. But that was before the Wars. The current Prime is also Emirate of Iacon—er, that's where you are right now. He was the supreme commander of the Autobots during the three Great Wars so when the coalition was formed about half a Vorn ago, he was chosen as this territory's Emirate. He's also the one who's funding this place," He took a sweeping glance of the halls in a vague gesture, seeing as his hands were currently occupied, "It was all his idea to begin with and he got Prowl to set it all up and run it. Prowl's good at that type of stuff. This place is totally secret from the rest of Cybertron. Only a select few former-Autobots know it even exists."

"This is probably a stupid question but…What are Autobots?"

Jazz gave her a patient smile. "Well, _I'm_ an Autobot. Or I was. Before the Coalition formed. All factions were disbanded when the war ended. It was part of the agreement. Every Mech here was an Autobot during the Wars. Except Mirage. He joined up half way through the second war. And Bluestreak. He was still a protoform when the last war broke out. Joined up about five Vorns before it ended."

"Who were you fighting against?"

"Decepticons." The way in which Jazz said the name gave Brea a strange impression that despite there being a coalition, there was still bad blood running between the two parties.

"Decepticons? Ha. Charming name."

Jazz chuckled. "Ain't it? They certainly deserved it too. A lot of them were never trialed for all the slag they did during the war either. Even Megatron got off free, although he disappeared a while back. Can't blame him really; if I were 'im I'd skedaddle my skid plate as far away from here as I could too."

"...Mega…_wha_?"

"Mega_tron_," Jazz replied with a vague hint of disdain coloring his tone. "He was the commander of the Decepticons. He started the whole mess."

"Doesn't sound like someone I'd ever like to meet in a dark alley way." Her off-the-hand comment seemed to bring the Mech out of his momentary grouse and he grinned.

"There are a lot of former Autobots who would attest to that. So what about you?" He asked abruptly, "What part of Earth are you from?"

"America."

"Which one?"

Brea blinked. "Uh…north. The US."

"Gotcha'. So you're not Canadian?"

Brea laughed. "No. I'm a pure blood Yankee."

Jazz paused in confusion.

"…I thought Yankees were a baseball team…"

Brea waited until her bout of laughter died down before answering, slightly winded. "No…no. Well, yes, they are a baseball team, but 'Yankee' is also slang for an American." Her brain paused, something inside saying _waitaminute_, "How did you even know the Yankee's were a baseball team? How do you even know about _baseball?_"

"Craig. He's been telling me about Earth sports for a while."

"Really? Cool," Brea smiled. "What else have they taught you?"

"Well, Annie's been trying to teach us all some of your history and culture and things like that.'Course, the Micromasters and the twins aren't really interested in that sort'a stuff as much as me, I guess."

"Oh. So if I asked you who the first President of the United States was, would you know?" She asked slyly.

"George Washington."

"Alright smart-guy, how about the second?" Brea grinned. "No one ever remembers him…"

Jazz grinned smugly. "John Adams. Lawyer and Massachusetts Delegate to the Continental Congress, signer of the Declaration of Independence and father to John Quincy Adams, the sixth president of the United States of America."

Brea's eye brows rose in amazement. "That's…impressive."

Jazz just grinned. "I'm a good student."


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Notes:** All right, this chapter is what I call a 'faith breaker' meaning it takes a weird turn that requires a certain amount of faith on the readers part to trust the Author knows what he (or in this case, a she.) is doing. These type of chapter often throw readers, but not in a good way and can spoil a story for them and they won't continue to read. So I implore everyone to take this chapter in stride if it makes you go 'WTF?!'. Hopefully I've explained things so they don't seem so obserd. Tell me if it worked or not. And always, please read, enjoy, and review! My biggest thanks to all of you for you're wonderful reviews and loving support! A special thanks goes to **BreezesofSpring **and **Linariel **and** Starwild **for thei reviews that made me happy and giddy and feel all warm and fuzzy.

* * *

Phase six: Sanctuary

Chapter Thirteen

* * *

The trip down to the bunker was quicker then Brea imagined. After marching through the halls, Jazz had taken an elevator down to the lower levels.

For some odd reason, Brea was struck dumb at the sight of the elevator. The mere concept of it made her feel oddly giddy. Her mind had never supplied an ounce of consideration that Cybertronians would have appliances that resembled anything like what humans had on earth and she found herself mentally giggling. Despite all appearances, Cybertronians weren't all that different then Humans. Their mannerisms and even general anatomy were strikingly similar. They were just made of metal instead of flesh…and were very very big.

She tried to remember if Xeon's tower had elevators. Surely it did. But she couldn't remember seeing any…of course, her mind had always been preoccupied when she first entered and left the tower.

When the elevator doors opened after a short trip down, Brea found herself staring down a short, dimly lit, corridor. There were three doors altogether; two on either side and one straight ahead. Upon exiting the elevator, Jazz marched forward to the door right ahead of him. Pausing at the lintel, Jazz carefully eased Brea into one hand before reaching up and typing something into a key pad beside the door. The mounted panel blinked three times and a small panel at the bottom left corner pulled away, revealing a square shaped indention inside which was a round jack-port of some kind.

Brea watched, enthralled, as Jazz lifted his index finger of his free hand and the metal tip split apart and a complicated looking device protruded out. Daftly, Jazz inserted his finger tip into the jack port. A low humming sound emitted from his body and his visor flickered. The pad blinked again and beeped.

"What was that?" Brea asked.

"Clearance scan," Jazz replied. "Everyone who's authorized to come down here has a special sequence encoded within their mainframe. The doors won't open from out here if the codes don't match. The codes are changed every three orns to keep ahead of any potential leaks or security breaches."

"Why so much security though?"

"Don't want Mechs with questionable intentions getting' their mits on you guys."

"Oh…"

As he removed his finger from the key pad, the set of doors in front of them parted with a hydraulic hiss.

Jazz grinned down at her. "See?"

She smiled back. "Groovy. Very James Bond."

"James who?"

"I'll tell you later."

Shrugging, Jazz strode through the doors and into the area called The Sanctuary.

Brea looked ahead of them, stifling a gasp. Of all the things she could have been expecting to see, what met her eyes was no where near anything her wildest hopes of dreams could have conjured up. In fact it bordered on the absurdly impossible; and yet there it was. It took her a good long moment to even believe what she was seeing.

Her first impression was green; lots and lots of green. Her heart seemed to freeze in her chest and a brilliant smile stretched her face as her eyes darted every which way to soak in as much of the color as she could stand. As far as she could see were green, lush trees sprouting out from a carpet of cool green grass. She spent a long moment trying to reboot herself before coming to her senses. Her head snapped up to look at Jazz; shock was written on her face, but it was the pleasant kind.

The Mech's grin widened, clearly amused.

The room was expansively huge with the ceiling well above seventy feet high. Brilliant yellow lights blared down, basking everything in a wonderfully soft glow that imitated sunlight so well that any offense of the attempted mimicry was lost in the overall vision. Trees grew up from the ground in no particular order, dotted here and there in a way that covered the space, but left sufficient room between them for their foliage to spread out and their roots to grow deep and far. They weren't astonishingly huge like a giant oak and yet they weren't small and dainty like saplings. They were perfect, speckling the landscape spaciously or in small clusters. Jazz was a fairly average sized Mech, and the tops of the tallest tree just barely reached past the top of his helm. Around them, soft green grass pelted the floor in a lush carpet and Brea mentally cheered when she caught sight of what looked like a weed.

A glint of silver caught her eye and she blinked down at the metal walkways leading into the room that splintered off from the door threshold in different directions.

_A pathway for Mechs,_ she thought. _I guess they don't want anyone walking on the grass…_

Jazz stood on the metal flooring, Brea in hand, and allowed her to gawk at the room for a moment, to take it all in. Then her world dropped suddenly as he lowered her to the ground. She wobbled slightly as she stepped down, but managed not to fall ungraciously upon her butt. Staring at the world around her, she took slow, carefully steps towards to the grass. She gently pressed her foot into the cool blades. The sensation was so familiar to her; she felt the inexplicable sting of tears wash over her. Blinking them away, she turned her attention to the trees and took another set of slow, careful steps towards the nearest one. As she approached, she raised her hand out to it. Her palm pressed against the rough bark and she relished at the touch. It was like meeting an old friend.

It had been so long since she had seen, let alone felt, anything that hadn't been made of metal or other synthetic materials. Cybertron was nothing like earth, there was no warm sun or lush forests, any grand mountains or vast seas. Everything here was cold and hard and flat; she couldn't feel the life in anything around her. Her fingers gently brushed the trunk and as she was speckled with yellow light peaking through the tree foliage, she could feel it. Life. This tree was alive with the same energy that made her alive. It was familiar and comforting, reassuring and everlasting. She could smell the dirt, a rich earthy smell that contrasted to the nearly every present smells of machines; oil, ozone, and other acrid scents that burned her senses.

She turned around and found Jazz standing on the metal path, looking down at her with a curious expression she did not know exactly how to interpret. He looked to her as if he was…content. With a grin wide enough to split her face, Brea spread her arms in a wide gesture that accurate portrayed both her disbelief and glee all in one stroke.

"I…whah…_how_?" She stammered, emerging from under the tree's foliage. "Where'd all these trees come from?"

"Earth of course," Jazz replied simply. "We've planted some of our own farther back, but most of these were smuggled off cargo transports that just _happen_ to get lost."

A pause.

"...why were they transporting trees?" She asked incredulously.

"Trees take in carbon dioxide and produce oxygen, right?" He asked.

"Yeah…" Brea nodded; she had known that since second grade.

"Well, there you go." Jazz replied. Brea squinted her eye at him in confusion, not quite understanding the connection he was trying to convey. Seeing her questioning stare, Jazz obligingly elaborated, "You see, the Kaon Trading Company is very…_cheap_, I guess you could call it, when it comes to energy. They figured using trees to help clean the air where they keep large number of humans would be more efficient and less costly then fans and air filters, which use energy. All trees need is light, water, nitrogen rich soil, and carbon dioxide. There's an irrigation system running through the ground under the dirt that waters everything here."

"So…what do you guys have _space pirates_ working for you or something?" Brea asked.

Jazz laughed, "Nah, nothing like that. It's technically called _salvaging_. Under some old law past during the Second Great War, when any ship is abandoned, everything is up for grabs. By leaving the ship, the crew is abandoning possession of everything aboard, including the ship itself. It was passed because raw materials to fuel the conflict were so scarce. Just an glorified 'finders keepers' rule."

"…but why are they abandoned?"

"Pirates shoot out their engines, cripple the ship," Jazz grinned knowingly, "The crews usually bail when that happens."

"You just said you didn't have pirates working for you!" Brea said accusatorily, but couldn't suppress her smile.

"Yeah, well they _don't_ work for us," Jazz replied slyly. "They sell the cargo on the market. We just buy it. Whenever we have the credits of course. Which ain't often unfortunately."

"Oh…well that's OK I guess," She replied.

"Oh?" Jazz looked amused.

"Well, these were stolen first right?" Brea countered, gesturing to the trees around her. "You could argue you were…I dunno, reclaiming them for humanity or something."

Jazz just laughed as he crouched down.

"C'mon," He said, hand twitching in a _C'mere _gesture. "The others are probably near the bunks."

* * *

The 'bunks' were a collection of metal sheds that occupied the space of a clearing near the middle of the huge room, positioned in a half circle. Each shed was about 5 by 7 feet with a tall rectangle cut out for the door and one square cut out for a window. In the middle of the circle of sheds was a fire pit with a metal grate over the top, charred remnants of fire wood crumbling at the bottom. There was a large metal container, like a pot, on top of the grate.

As Jazz approached the clearing, Brea heard the faint sound of melodious twanging and strumming. It would pause and stop, start over, and waver uncertainly. It was so familiar and yet so strange to hear it that she wasn't sure if she was actually hearing what she presumed. The sound grew louder with each step her chaperone took and soon she could hear the strumming more clearly and a familiar melody through the jumpy, indecisive chords.

_A guitar? Oh_, Brea thought, _I know this song! Argh, what is it called? _

Darn, she couldn't even remember the band. It was on the tip of her tongue.

Jazz rounded a bend in the metal path and the clearing came into full view. Sitting at the edge of the fire pit was a scruffy young man with sandy hair. His attention was devoted to the wooden instrument sitting in his lap, fingers strumming the strings on the body while his other hand compressed them farther up the neck.

Brea couldn't help but stare at him. It had been so long since she had seen another human that it felt almost as if she'd woken up from some long dream. The world she had known was strange and alien, but after a time it had become her reality. It had become the norm. However, seeing another human walking around seemed to remind her that she once had a life beyond captivity, that where she was at the moment was not where she was supposed to be. Those memories of home and of family, of friends…they weren't just all illusions. Somewhere, Earth was waiting for her, for all of them, to return.

"Still at it Ceb?" Jazz asked. The boy jumped, fingers pulling down the neck and making the strings screech and interrupting his hish-hash melody.

"Bloody 'ell, Jazz," the young man breathed and turned to face the Mech. His English accent surprised Brea and she stared dumbly at him for a moment. "You've got to stop doin' that to me, man. Ya gonna give me a heart attack."

The Mech merely grinned, one should rising slightly in a feeble shrug. "Sorry. Can't help it. It's just too easy."

The young man scowled, clearly not amused. "Yeah well, don't be surprised next time you get a bloody rock in th' face."

"C'mon, Caleb. Everyone knows you have horrible aim."

"Oh yea? Well then, I'll jus' hev'ta find a really _big_ rock, won't I?"

The young man looked up at Brea, finally seeming to notice her, and he stared for a moment for breaking into a wide smile.

"Oh. 'Ello." Jazz walked forward and lowered Brea to the ground.

"Caleb, this is Brea," Jazz said, "A new arrival."

The young man rose from his seat on the ground, placing the guitar carefully on the grass. He took a couple steps towards her, smiling and offering her his hand in welcome. Brea reached out and shook the young man's hand, feeling the calloused palms and fingers press into her smooth un-worked hands.

"Hello."

"Sorry 'bout that, he does that stuff to me all th' time, ya see."

Jazz stifled a snicker, earning a glare from Caleb.

"It's alright," she said, smiling, "I thought it was kinda funny."

"Did you now?" He smiled, eyes squinting in contemplation. With his free hand, he pointed to her in a speculative gesture. "Lemme guess; American, right?" He asked as one eyebrow rose.

"That's right," she laughed. Was she really that obvious?

Caleb wore the same type of white clothe that Brea's dress was made of, but instead of a tunic like dress, he wore what was, essentially, a skirt…or a kilt. A colored sash was wrapped around his waist, the access hanging to the side. Brea made an effort to keep her eyes on his face and not his bare chest. She felt her face heat with a blush, although thankfully no one seemed to notice.

"Where're the others?" Jazz asked, gaining the two humans' attention.

"Out in the garden. Planting more Wheat I think. Craig was saying something about making a store of food incase something happens; like a bad harvest or we get more people and stuff like that."

"Probably a good idea," Jazz agreed.

"And we're gonna try and start drying some of the fruits n' veg's out ta' make 'em last a bit longer. We have like 30 tomato plants now. I told Sean he was putting too many seeds down. We're gonna be living off of tomato soup for a month," Caleb replied.

Jazz laughed.

Turning to gesture towards one of the sheds, Caleb added, "Also, Preston's in there sleepin'. He wasn't feeling too good yesterday. Think he might be getting' sick again, the poor bugger."

Jazz's face fell at the news. "I'll call Fixit to come down and check him out. How bad's it this time?"

"Nothing to get worried over, say he's just feelin' a lil' lethargic and light headed. Still, better t'be safe and keep him rested. We don't think he's gettin' pneumonia again. He's eatin' a bit, but not much. Sean says he might've just caught a bug or something."

"Better get Fix down here anyway. Just in case whatever he has is contagious."

Caleb nodded his scruffy head and turned back to Brea and the pleasant smile faded as he seemed to be suddenly struck by her appearance.

"_Blimey_," He breathed, his eyes trailing up her form, "You ain't from the _arenas_ are ya?"

Brea blinked and looked down at herself. Her arms and legs were still bruised, her dress torn and giving the impression she might have just been through a battle of some kind. Her left wrist, still bandaged and braced, hung loosely at her side.

"Oh-! No, no. Nothing like that," Brea assured, "I was…ah…owned by…someone with a temper."

"Oh," Caleb's blank face turned sympathetic and he reached out to touch her collar. "I s'pose that's what this is for, then eh?"

"Yeah," She answered. A moment of silence passed, during which Caleb starred at the engravings upon the metal circulating her neck with a strangely curious expression. Brea began to feel awkward with having a boy stand so close to her, his hands running along the gold metal. He glanced up to see Brea looking at him and he backed away awkwardly, realizing his blunder.

"Oh-! Sorry, didn't mean to gawk at ya like that. Force of habit. Y'know, people like shiny things."

Brea felt the lingering heat of a blush on her face, but laughed anyway. "I-it's alright."

Caleb struggled to work past the awkward moment. "Well, ah…we'll talk with Annie when she gets back an' see if she's up to making you some new clothes," He replied in a cheerful voice that made Brea smile. He gestured to her battered limbs. "But yer alright though? Those look like they smart a bit."

"Nah," she replied, despite the ache in her ribs, "I'm fine."

Caleb suddenly smirked. "So then, what'd the Hatchet have to say about ya?"

Brea blinked. "Huh?"

Above her, Jazz burst out into laughter. She stared up at the towering being for a moment before turning back to Caleb to find him grinning reticently.

"What?" She asked, puzzled.

"I mean Ratchet. It's just a nick name we gave him that kind of stuck," He snickered, "Y'know, cause _Ratchet_ sounds so much like _Hatchet_? You gotta love the English language."

The edges of Brea's mouth twitched into a smile. "Oh, I bet he _l-o-o-ves_ that."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he did," Jazz added in, and then lowered his voice slightly as if he were afraid someone was watching, "Y'see ol' Ratch is a bit infamous amongst the former Autobots. During the war, he was the best field medic we had; his survival rates were near 90. But that was on the field. If you got so much as a ding from something other then combat, he'd rip you apart and _maybe_ put you back together again if he was feeling up to it. His bedside manner is notorious for being down right deplorable." Jazz grinned, "But there's bit of a catch with you guys. See, he can't be rough and reckless like he can with us Mechs. He could really hurt ya. S'that's why he has the Micromasters around to help, Fixit and the others. He has to find other ways of punishing you all for getting hurt while doing something stupid."

"So he yells a lot instead," Caleb said, sounding oddly proud. "That's how we came up with the name. My brother Sean and me got into a scuffle one time, I don't even remember what it was about, and ended up giving each other some nice souvenirs afterward. Well, Fixit was patching us up, up in the infirmary, and Ratchet was there, standing to the side and lecturing our ears off at about five million decibels. I don't remember who said it, bit one of us said something about him murdering us with a chainsaw and it just kind of clicked. Ratchet the Hatchet."

Brea snickered.

"Oh, It's all shits-an-giggles _now_," Caleb added, "But at the time he got mad and locked us in the cabinet for three hours."

* * *

A/N 2: So, did what do you all think? Did the forest thing freak you out?


	14. Chapter 14

_**Author's notes:**_ Welly-well well, I'm glad everyone responded real well to the forest idea. Thanks for all the reviews too! I can't believe how popular this story has gotten. Wow, it seems like my plot bunnies are like literary gold. lol. Anyway, another chapter. When I had written it I was really excited about it but as time went on and I critiqued it I became dubious, but it's a necessary chapter. I'm not as thriller with it as I was when I wrote it, but I hope you all like it. As always; please read and review! Critiques are welcome as well.

* * *

Phase seven: Insanity

Chapter Fourteen

* * *

"Where'd you get the guitar?"

Caleb had taken up the instrument once more after Brea had taken a seat across the fire pit from him while beside her, Jazz took a spot on the grass, his movements slow and careful so he didn't gouge grooves into the ground.

The young man looked up at Brea and smiled. "Jazz gave it to me," He said.

Brea then turned to the mentioned Mech and interrogated him. "Ok. Where did _you_ get it, then?"

The Mech shrugged inconsequentially.

"I found it couple orns back while I was securing some supplies for the compound. A vendor down at the market had a box of weird human stuff he was trying to pawn off," Jazz replied. "I didn't know what a lot of the stuff was and I figured it'd be a nice surprise for these guys, so I bought it and took it all back here. Caleb pretty much demanded me to give to 'im when I pulled it out of the box."

"I did not," Caleb retorted.

"If you were tall enough, you would've ripped it out of my hands," Jazz countered with a smirk.

"You should have seen the junk that was in there," Caleb said as if never hearing Jazz. "There was an egg beater, a crushed box of tissues, a bunch of broke records, a baby monitor that doesn't work, a stapler, a VCR, a broken computer monitor, the E volume of an encyclopedia, a broken chair, and oh-!" he snickered, "There was a bra too."

Brea snorted. "_What_?"

"Yeah," Caleb laughed. "There was. Rodney wanted to keep it but Annie threw it into the fire 'cause it wasn't her size."

Brea shook her head as she tried to calm the giggle fit threatening to emerge.

"There were some fire crackers too," He added.

"Really? Do you still have them?"

"Nah, we used 'em."

"Yeah, by throwing 'em into the fire," Jazz added. "Not the smartest thing you and yer brothers have done Ceb. Scared poor Blue outta his processor; yer lucky he wasn't armed."

"Yeah, Ratchet said the same thing," The boy grumbled.

"So do you know how to play?" Brea asked, gesturing to the guitar and recalling the strange jumble of chords and melodies that she had heard coming upon the clearing.

"Can I _play_?" Caleb sounded offended at the question, sending her an incredulous look. He placed his fingers along the neck of the guitar. The digits danced across the instrument, bringing the air alive with music. After a moment of rapid chord dealing, the young man ended his riff and looked up at her smugly. Although an acoustic did not have the same sound as an electrical guitar and really wasn't built for such melodic displays, his point had been made.

Brea felt her face and neck heat up. "Alright, then what was that before?"

Looking stymied, Caleb averted his gaze uncomfortably from her, looking like a little boy caught in a lie. "Oh…that. Yeah well…I was trying to remember how to play this one song I like. Called 'Wonderwall'. Dunno if you've ever heard it before," He said, suddenly seeming to wilt as he thought about it.

_That's it! I knew I knew that song!_ Brea's mind cheered and then faltered as she noticed his demeanor.

She had the inexplicable impression of reminisce emitting from him. Perhaps it was something they all felt that was easily recognizable to them, something that their experiences gave then that they all shared, but was hard to explain. But Brea seemed to understand the look of mournful loss, almost as if she could see his thoughts and memories playing inside his head. "I can't remember the melody very well. Or most of the lyrics…"

Brea watched him as his eyes suddenly became very distant looking, as if his consciousness was slipping back to revisit his memories. After a moment he came back to himself and turned to her, sending her a forced smile. Brea saw beyond it and found a sadness there and her chest tightened, having recognized such a sadness in her that for a long time she had thought was limited only to her. An inane thought came to her as she realized for the first time…

_I'm not alone… _

"It's been a while," He said, snapping her from her thoughts, "Since I'd heard any familiar music, y'know? Jazz's shown us some of their music, but…it's just not the same, y'know? It's been a while I guess. Kinda strange, I mean I listened to the radio and my CD's all the time back home and then suddenly, _POOF_ it's all gone. No more, bye-bye. I guess it's pretty much what people are always saying about you not knowing what you have till it's gone, eh?"

Brea clenched her hands and nodded.

The young man ran his hand across the smooth wooden body of the guitar in an appreciative gesture. "When Jazz first brought this to show us, I was all excited. I couldn't believe it." He looked up at her, " Y'see, my brothers and I…well, back home, we'd started our own band when we were kids. I was on guitar, Sean was on base, and Rodney was our drummer. There was a neighbor girl who'd sing backup sometimes too. It was what we wanted to do with our lives. Me mum, she thought it was just a phase, y'know. Like kids our age. Everyone wanted to be a rock star. 'Cept we didn't grow out of it. We started landing gigs at some fundraisers and we played in the pubs and stuff like that, doing covers of songs from the popular bands. We'd been working on some of our own stuff at the time when…well, we were coming home from a charity drive in London when we were caught." A sadness filtered into his hazel eyes and he looked down for a moment. He sniffed and swiftly whipped his hand across is nose before looking back up. Brea saw tears gathering in his eyes. His voice broke and cracked as he said, "And then…suddenly we're here."

She felt the familiar sting of oncoming tears and the constricting of her lungs. She fought them back. "I'm sorry…"

Caleb smiled weakly before laughing, rubbing his eyes, "What's t'be sorry fer? I'm alive and I have my health and my brothers. It's a lot more then what others have, I can tell ya that," He took a long breath and slowly released it, "I just wish I could tell our Mum and Dad we're alright."

Brea nodded numbly. She could understand that. What she wouldn't give to be able to see her parent's faces one more time, to see her little brother. Just to know, good or bad, where they were.

Her eyes fell as Vortex's words drifted back into her cognitive thoughts. Did he realize Earth had been invaded and its people were being hunted down like animals? She suspected not. A part of her told her she should tell him, but another part said no. She didn't want to bring him anymore sadness. The way he gripped the neck of the instrument spoke volumes. To him, that guitar was more then just a musical tool…it was a comfort. It gave him a sense of normalcy, reminding him of how the world once was. The guitar was a symbol to him, a symbol of his hope to return to that time. It was his anchor.

Her stomach dropped as she replied, "Yeah…"

What was her anchor?

Feeling queasy and not having the heart to tell him about Earth, Brea searched for a change of subject or at least one that shifted away from its current path. She looked down at the guitar in his lap again and forced herself to smile.

"Try playing," She said, "I might be able to fill in some of the gaps."

Caleb stared and blinked at her for a moment before smiling and adjusted his fingers along the neck. "Alright, so you know the song then?"

She nodded. "It's _Oasis_ right?

He beamed. "That's right. Okay, then. Gimme a tick."

He began to strum, trying to find his place among the strings, humming along with the opening chords; a steady strumming that set the beat and tone…His humming slowly morphed into words as he guided his fingers along the strings.

"_Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you_

_By now you should have somehow realized what you gotta do _

_I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now…"_

The strumming faltered and his lips moved without direction as his mind searched for the next line. His eyes flickered over to her hopefully…

Brea opened her mouth and picked up the song, her soft soprano voice filling the gap nicely.

"_Backbeat the word is on the street that the fire in your heart is out _

_I'm sure you've heard it all before but you never really had a doubt…"_

Caleb beamed at her, his fingers finding their places along the strings without difficulty and his voice joined Brea in the lyrics as if he had never forgotten them.

"_I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now…"_

Caleb aced the chord change without hesitation, his eyes never wavering from Brea's face as their voices rang in chorus.

"_And all the roads we have to walk are winding_

_And all the lights that lead us there are blinding _

_There are many things that I would like to say to you_

_But I don't know how…"_

It was strange, but as the next phrase of the song ran around in their minds, telling their mouths what to say, they both raised their voices and a feeling of absolution and confidence filled the air. Caleb's simple strumming grew more aggressive and direct, growing into a crescendo and giving the music a hidden meaning, making it sound bold as if it were determined to be heard.

"'_Cause maybe_

_You're gonna be the one that saves me _

_And after all_

_You're my Wonderwall."_

His playing grew softer with the next lines, but the confidence remained perfectly audible.

"_Today was gonna be the day but they'll never throw it back to you _

_By now you should have somehow realized what you're not to do_

_I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now_

_And all the roads that lead you there were winding_

_And all the lights that light the way are blinding _

_There are many things that I would like to say to you_

_But I don't know how_

_I said maybe_

_You're gonna be the one that saves me _

_And after all_

_You're my Wonderwall_

_I said maybe _

_You're gonna be the one that saves me _

_And after all_

_You're my Wonderwall_

_I said maybe _

_You're gonna be the one that saves me _

_You're gonna be the one that saves me _

_You're gonna be the one that saves me…." _

The guitar's sound faded quickly after the ending measure and for moment, all three of them, two humans and a Mech, sat around looking at each other.

Jazz broke into an enthusiastic grin. "Wow. That was incredible you two!"

Brea's face heated with a blush and she looked away, bashfully. _I can't believe I just did that…_

Caleb, however, was all grins. "I can't believe we just did that! I've been trying to remember all the words to that song for ages!"

Trying her best to work past her timidity, Brea smiled, "The Pizza place I worked at use to play that song over and over until we finally got the track player fixed… three _weeks_ after it started looping," she said, "I don't think I could forget the words if I wanted to."

"Does all Earth music sound like that?" Jazz asked, enthralled. His visor was aglow with rapture.

"No," Caleb replied, "There're all different types of music, but I guess the basic components are all there…"

"What about--" Jazz's response was abruptly cut off by a high pitched bawling that began emitting from one of the sheds. The sound startled Brea, who jumped and jerked around to stare at the suspicious hut.

"And that would be my cue," Caleb said, a grin still plastered on his face, rising to his feet, "Just gimme a sec, alright? I'll be right back."

Beside her, Jazz laughed. "Everyone's a critic, huh Ceb?"

Caleb just laughed as he began making his way to the shed, disappearing into it.

"Is that…a baby?" She asked in disbelief.

"Yep," Jazz answered with a grin on his face. He didn't seem to notice her perturbation. "Her name's Becky. She's Annie's lil' monster."

"So her Mom is nearby then," Brea said in relief. She could not imagine how heart breaking it would have been if the Baby had been abandoned.

The Mech didn't reply and merely stared at her with a curious expression.

Caleb returned before an awkward silence could occupy the space Brea's words had left. As he emerged from the little metal shed, he carried a bundle of blankets with him, arms struggling to keep a hold of the wiggling armful. As he approached them, Brea caught sight of the baby's foot dangling out of the folds. She heard the soft gurglings of the infant as Caleb rounded the fire pit so he could sit next to Brea. Looking over, Brea's mouth stretched into a smile at the sight of her.

She was gorgeous.

A pink, pudgy little baby girl with eyes as blue as the sea, thin black wisps of hair clinging to her young scalp, her toothless mouth opening and closing meaninglessly as she made baby noises. Her small hands reached up and padded Caleb's face, rubbing against his cheeks, while little fingers pried at his mouth and nose. Gigging, he turned his head this way and that to keep from having a baby finger pushed up his nostril. Brea laughed and reached out to touch Becky's little arm. "Hey there," she said in a small high pitched cooing voice. Bright blue eyes locked onto her face and the baby's little mouth widened in a bright smile and she giggled.

Brea laughed despite herself. "She's adorable!"

"Oh just you wait," Caleb said, shifting Becky in a more secure hold, "She stops being cute after a few days of diaper duty."

Brea glanced up at him with a smirk, "So are you the _Manny_, then?"

"This week I am," He replied, sounding resigned before perking up and smiling slyly, "Sean's got next week."

"How old is she?"

"Six months," Caleb replied.

Brea fell silent and the smile on her face disappeared. She felt a surge of something run through her and she looked at the child with new eyes. Both Jazz and Caleb noticed her sudden change in demeanor and stared at her worryingly; some unknown and unspoken concern passing silently between them.

She surprised them both when she suddenly perked up and looked at Caleb, eyes sparkling. "Can I hold her?"

Taken a back by her sudden rebound, Caleb stumbled on his assent, "Un…yeah, s-sure."

Carefully, he transferred Becky over to Brea, who accepted the bundle of joy with open arms. Cradling the baby in her arms, gently rocking her back and forth, Brea stared into her deep blue eyes. Both man and Mech studied the pair with uncertain gazes.

"She was born here wasn't she? On Cybertron…?" Brea asked finally, her voice possessing a somewhat muted sadness to it.

Caleb watched her for a second, understanding why she had suddenly become melancholy, before replying. "Yeah. Annie was pregnant when they took her, but I guess at the time they didn't know enough about us to be able to recognize it."

"We rescued Annie from a euthanizing compound and about a joor after she was brought here, she gave birth," Jazz added. "At the time all this was just an abandoned bunker from the war. Preston was the only human we had here at the time so he had to help. He didn't know much about how to deliver a baby, but then again we didn't know anything at all. I think Ratchet almost short circuited from all the blood. Poor Blue kept trying to charge into the infirmary whenever she screamed."

Brea nodded. "Yeah. Childbirth is notoriously painful. And without an epidural? Dear lord, I bet she wasn't a happy mommy."

Caleb laughed. "Preston said he was afraid she was gonna drop kick him or something. He said it almost made him take a vow of chastity. Almost."

In her arms, baby Becky began to fuss and whine, wiggling her body in a clear gesture of unhappiness. She began to cry and Brea felt panicked for a moment, looking to Caleb for help. He just smiled and gestured to her.

"Give 'er here," Caleb said and reached out to take her back, settling the fussy child in the crook one arm. His other hand reached down beside his leg and picked up a small canister of some kind that Brea hadn't noticed before. But she did note, with some surprise, that the top had been fixed with a rubber nipple like a baby bottle. "Time to feed the black hole…"

Caleb brought the bottle to Becky's face and her little eyes sparkled, little infant hands reaching out to grab it from him. She immediately began to suckle. Caleb glanced up at Brea with a smile and opened his mouth as though to say something, but his eyes shifted to look at something past her and the blood in his face seemed to drain.

"Uh-oh…" He said.

Brea stared at him quizzically. "U-oh? What's Uh-oh?"

Beside her, she heard Jazz curse. "Aw frag."

Brea was not very eager to turn and see what the fuss was, but as was human nature, she did. With trepidation, Brea slowly turned her head around and her eyes locked onto a very startling sight. A shiver ran through her body.

_Oh boy…_

Ratchet stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, eyes flashing, and expression as furious as she had ever seen. He stared at the small group, mouth twisted into an irate scowl. Brea contemplated whether or not to dive for cover behind Jazz.

The black and white Mech, himself, seemed to shrink away beside her as the medic's glare focused in on him. Brea wouldn't have been surprised if the medic's eyes didn't start shooting off lasers. There seemed to be a silent conversation, or lecture, going on between Jazz and Ratchet, but the glare was suddenly directed at her and then she found herself shrinking away as well.

_Me? _She thought incredulously,_ What did I do? _

Caleb just looked between the trio, confusion and worry on his face, while Becky, thoroughly unaware, suckled eagerly on the bottle without any vague notion as to the atmosphere of the room.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ratchet asked Brea, sounding as if he expected her to really answer.

"…uh…I was t-talking to…with Caleb… and…playing with…the baby…" She replied plainly, stumbling clumsily over her words as if she were afraid any one of them might set the Mech off. She recalled what Jazz and Caleb had said about his bedside manner. She certainly didn't want to be locked in a cupboard.

Ratchet leered at her.

"You're not clear to leave the infirmary for another four _joors_," He told her, scowl increasing. Then his gaze snapped back to Jazz, who _flinched_. Ratchet switched to Cybertronian to berate the Mech. "_And you! Don't think for a click that you're getting out if this. Breaking procedure and regulations is a punishable offense, Jazz. I thought you knew that!_"

"_Yeah, but we thought she might need to get out and roam for a while,_" Jazz replied defensively. "_Y'know, to cheer her up a bit._"

"_We can't accelerate procedure and risk having Brea turn out like Kimberly,_" Ratchet snapped. "_We need to follow the…_" The medic glanced at Brea and his words trailed off. Turning back to Jazz, he said, "_We'll discuss this later with Prowl after he returns from the Citadel._"

Jazz wilted.

"Hey Ratchet?" Caleb spoke up, his voice colored with a slight hint of apprehension. When the medic turned to the young man, he seemed to tense, but continued anyway, "I just wanted to let you know Preston's sick again."

The medic's furious demeanor diminished almost immediately and he glanced over at the rows of little metal sheds. "How bad?"

"Not too bad," Caleb replied optimistically, "But Annie wanted me to make sure I told one of you guys if you came down today."

Ratchet's optics didn't leave the little shed and after a moment, he made his way over to one of them. He treaded carefully on the grass as if to keep from destroying or uprooting it and then crouched down beside the metal house. Peering inside, Ratchet lightly rapped on the top of the shed.

"Preston," He called.

Brea heard a faint moan and a cough.

"Come on you bum, get up," Ratchet said. Even though it sounded like a command, he said it gently, almost as if he were urging the human up. "Let's have a look at you."

A moment later, a frail looking man stepped into the threshold of the door, the light blond hair atop his head was disheveled and dirty. His eyes were sunken and one hand tiredly rubbed at one eye. Like Caleb, Preston wore the skirt and sash ensemble, but unlike the former, he was older and much skinnier. He looked ill. Ratchet stared at the man with disapproval.

"You're body mass has decreased by several units," The medic said accusatorily, optics narrowing. "Why haven't you been refueling the appropriate amount?"

The man's voice was raspy and frank as he replied, "Because I just end up puking it all back up. No sense in wasting what little food we have."

"If you don't start refueling properly, I'll stick a tube down your throat," Ratchet snapped. "You need to take better care of yourself."

Preston stared up at the Mech, a wicked little grin coming to his face, "Take care of myself? Ha. Sorry man, should've told me that twenty years ago."

"C'mon Preston, he's just trying to help," Caleb said, still bouncing Becky in his arms.

"Yeah well, forgive me if I'm not in too much of a charitable mood right now," He said and turned back to go into the shed, "I'll see you guys later. I'm going back to bed. Don't wake me unless someone's discovered how to turn bark into booze."

After the man left, Ratchet spent a moment scowling after him, but didn't pursue the issue or call him back. Standing back up, he strolled around the clearing to stand behind Brea and Caleb. Glancing down at them, Ratchet sighed, "Keep an eye on him, will you Caleb? Makes sure Annie gives him some food too. If he doesn't start eating he'll keep getting sick like this. Craig can _force_ feed him if need be."

"Will do," Caleb replied, shifting Becky in his arms. The little baby looked up and waved her small hands at the medic as if she wanted to be picked up.

Ratchet looked down at the small human and Brea was surprised to see a small smile appear on the medic's face. "Hello to you too you little monster."

"She's not a monster," Brea said defensively, but with a smile. "She's adorable."

"She's a tiny Primus forsaken ball of noise and trouble is what she is," Ratchet replied. Becky merely giggled and waved her arms jubilantly. As far as she knew, the grown ups were talking and smiling at her, giving her attention, and that was cause for celebration. Ratchet shook his head, smiling.

"But she's a cute monster," Caleb replied, bouncing the little girl in his lap. He nuzzled the baby with his face, causing her to squeal and giggle. "Look at that face!"

"She's very deceptive," The medic replied, bending down near Brea. "C'mon, I'm taking you back up to the Infirmary."

Brea frowned up at the medic, wanting to protest. She didn't want to leave! She wanted to meet the other humans. Besides, what had him so adamant about following his 'procedures', anyway? She was fine! No mental instability here, thank you. _See this face? This is the face of a mentally stable person! _

"But-" Before Brea could utter any more form of opposition, Ratchet reached out and gently scooped her up, shifting her into one hand.

"No 'buts'," He said flatly as he stood back up, causing a wave of vertigo to sweep over her, and made his way back over to the metal path that led to the exit. Passing Jazz, the medic pinned him with a look and the moment seemed to freeze over. Ratchet's voice was clear and precise when he said, "Jazz?"

"Y-yeah?" The aforementioned Mech asked nervously, shoulders hunched in anticipation. Even though Brea had a distinct impression as to what was going to happen, it still stunned her. She didn't think he'd actually do it.

But then again…

The medic's free hand curled into a fist and made contact with Jazz's helm with frightening force, echoing loudly and causing the present humans to jump. Jazz yelped and reached up to nurse the abused area. The medic huffed irritably and said, "Next time you decide to ignore my procedures, **don't**."

Brea stared, with wide-eyed surprise at the sizable dent in Jazz's head.

While not appearing to be as shocked as her, Caleb still seemed stunned nonetheless. In his arms, little Becky merely giggled and clapped.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I'm glad everyone took so well to Caleb! lol. No one can resist an englishman. That accent is a killer. Also I must tell you I have not given them (Caleb and his bros) a designated home town so their accents might jump around the UK a bit.

Phase seven: Insanity

Chapter Fifteen

One more day. Just one more day and she would be free. Well, a day and a half really.

As punishment for her part in the day's prior escapades, Ratchet had taxed on another two joors, about twelve hours, bringing her glorious total to a frustrating 36 hours. Once again she fumed at not having a watch to calculate the time. She was not very happy about the additions and had no reserves about telling the Medic off, but her words were like little pebbles flicking off the Cybertronian's armor. He mostly ignored her, every so often making an 'Oh, _really_?' or 'Is that so?' kind of comment or noise at her empty threats. She felt like a toddler trying to bully an adult; there was no real potential for the fulfillment of said threats. He seemed to humor her and let her banter on about her frustrations. If anything…he seemed glad to see her venting. He even laughed a few times as she fumed when she became theatric, swept up in the moment and the realization she was getting away with it.

"And I'm sick of everyone treating and talking about me as if I'm not there or that I'm not intelligent enough to understand what's being said. Or—or that I'm gonna break or have a mental break down if anyone talks to me like anything but a _child_. I'm 17 dammit! I'm almost an adult! First time in half a year I'm around other humans and you won't even let me be around them because of what? That you think I might go crazy? Give me _some _credit here! I'm not an idiot. I understand at least a _little_ of what's going on, I'm not _that_ blind!" She stamped her foot for emphasis. "Just because I'm smaller then you doesn't make me _stupid!_"

Ratchet had been in the middle of sorting through a box of something when her words struck him. He paused and turned his head slowly to peer at her, a curious look crossing his face that Brea was not quiet able to place.

"_I'm not stupid…_" Brea's face was flushed from her ranting and she was slightly out of breath, making the pronunciation of the alien words all the more difficult, her hands clenched at her sides and she stood with legs spread evenly as if to keep her upright. Her eyes leered at him and it occurred to her in a flash of insight that she was taking out all her frustrations out on him and she felt a momentary swell guilt. She was mad. Really mad…and for all the world she didn't really understand why she was so mad at him. Perhaps she wasn't mad at him at all; he was simply the closest person around and she needed to vent. "_I'm not. I'm just…tired_ _of being looked down on."_

Silence filled the room, broken only by the soft humming of the medic's internal systems and Brea's breathe as it slowed back to it's normal tempo. Ratchet stared at her for a long moment and she began to feel awkward. Averting her gaze, she felt her face and neck began to heat in a blush.

"_You're right_," Ratchet said finally and she looked up at him, feeling slightly stunned. "_You're not stupid. But I never intended to make you feel inferior. I'm a medic, and my first priority is to see that you recover from your injuries. All of them; physical and mental_." He seemed to wilt. "_I also apologize for what I said before…to Mirage. You weren't meant to hear it. We don't blame you for any of what's happened; we understand you were in a difficult position. I am sorry for ever saying it._"

Brea stared for a moment and then nodded numbly.

"_So don't let it upset you_."

"_How can I not_?" She asked with a little more resentment then she felt. "How _can I not look back at all that time and wonder where the hell my brain was? Why I couldn't figure out the big picture until some shoved my face into it? You were_ right_, I—"_

Brea cut off when Ratchet suddenly raised his hand above her and for a fleeting moment she though he was going to squish her, but instead of a pounding death via fist, his index finger extended and tapped her on the head. In consideration of size ratios, a Mech tap was more equivalent to a very well aim knock across the scalp.

"Ah!" She cried out, reaching up to grope the offended area, hunching over as if to make herself a smaller target least the Medic decide to strike again.

"_Stop that nonsense_," He said plainly.

"_That hurt_!"

"_Don't dwell on what you can't change. It's not healthy_," He told her flatly. "_Especially for you._"

"_It still hurt!_"

"_Good. Now whenever you feel the urge to go down self-misery road, let that bump be a reminder to not do so,_" He smirked at her. "_And_ _don't think you're being singled out either. I treat everyone equally, Cybertronian or human_."

She looked up at him with a mixture of offense and shock. "_They told me you didn't hit humans though_!"

"_That was before I __calculated_ _how much force I could use without doing excessive physical damage,"_ Ratchet replied smugly. "_You can thank Rodney and Sean for that._"

"_Well check your math_!" She barked, rubbing her head and then muttered, "No wonder they called you the Hatchet."

The medic's mouth pinched into a frown. "_Keep pushing it and see if I don't add another joor_."

She glared. "That's extortion." She didn't know the how to say 'extortion' in Cybertronian and was forced to speak in English.

He smirked. "_That all depends upon your perspective of the situation_."

Brea was lounging. She lay crooked in her bed, legs dangling over the raised lip of the box. She stared up at the underside of the overhead cabinets and tried to think of ways to occupy her mind for the next 32 hours…

She rubbed her head gently, running one finger over the goose egg. _Stupid Ratchet and his rules…_

Fixit was left in charge of the infirmary while aforementioned medic left for some unknown place, which he seemed to do often Brea noticed. The Micromaster spent his time cleaning or working at his station, a size appropriate bench and assembled tools that were built into the wall a few yards from where Brea's box-bed had been set up. Instead of laying in bed the whole time, as Ratchet had _ordered_ prior to his departure, Brea had decided to 'stretch her boundaries' so to speak and wander around the counter space to ease her boredom.

She stood behind Fixit for a minute or so as he tinkered with some strange conglomerate of mechanical parts and bits, watching as he went about the seemingly meaningless work.

"You know, if Ratchet catches you out of bed after what he told you, he's gonna shut you in a storage locker," Fixit told her, not even turning to face her, but seeming to know she was there.

"I don't wanna just sit in bed all day," She argued, "Sitting still makes me sleepy and if I sleep too much I feel all groggy and lethargic."

Fixit chuckled, continuing his work all the while as he spoke. "You go ahead and tell Ratchet that and get back to me on how well that excuse works."

Brea walked around to stand next to Fixit's bench, whining in Cybertronian, "_But I'm bo-o-o-ored_…."

Fixit paused to send her a surprised look. He had heard from Ratchet that she could speak and understand Cybertronian, but this was the first confirmation of it. He smiled, "That was pretty good. You're pronunciation is a little off though."

She huffed irritably at the familiar criticism, leaning forward onto the table, muttering, "_Xeon said the same thing._"

Fixit grinned at her. "_Funny, I wouldn't have thought Xeon would be the kind of Mech to teach a human anything useful_."

"_I convinced him to_," She grinned back smugly, as if to say 'look what I did! Ha ha!', "_I told him I could be more useful that way_."

"_Smart girl, appealing to his ego_," Fixit returned to his task.

Brea tilted her head in bemusement, not recognizing one of the words. "…_e-ego_?"

Obligingly, Fixit repeated the word in English, "Ego."

"Oh, ok. _Ego_."

Fixit had her repeat the word several more times until he was happy with her pronunciation. Brea found it slightly amusing that the Cybertronian word for 'Ego' was so difficult to say and was pondering that thought when the infirmary door opened, startling her.

Both Micromaster and human looked over to see a Mech's head peak in attentively, grey helm with a bright red chevron. Brea instantly recognized him as the one who had found her in the ally way in Kaon. She felt her heart give a little _ker-plunk_.

"_Hey there Blue_," Fixit greeted cheerfully, putting down his tools.

The mentioned Mech looked towards the Micromaster and relief seemed to wash over him. Holding his arm curiously with the support of the other, the Mech walked all the way into the room. His form was identical to Prowl's save for the paint job and the wing panels jutting out from behind his shoulders drooped in an almost forlorn way. He looked utterly, Brea felt, like a child. It was strange to look at a very tall someone and be struck with such an impression.

Even stranger was the unwelcome memories that his presence suddenly conjured up in her mind. A chill swept through as and for a fleeting moment she was no longer in the infirmary, but back in that ally, hiding from those who wished to do her harm. Cold, alone, and very scared. Death felt so close she could feel it's its icy breath brushing against her neck...

"_Hey Fixit_," The grey Mech's voice broke her from her thoughts and she shook her head as if to scatter them away. His voice was attentive, almost fearful. He looked around the room as if expecting something to pop out at him, "_Ratchet's …not here is he_?"

"_Nope, sorry. Left a few breems ago for a meeting with Prime_," Fixit replied, striding over to stand near the counter's edge, hand placed on his hips. Neither of them seemed to pay attention to Brea. "_What did you need, buddy_?"

"_My arm._ _I think I might have snapped something in the joint_," Bluestreak lifted his indicated arm and made an effort to get a better look at his elbow, but his anatomy wasn't designed for such flexibility and he only succeeded in looking very silly. He looked up at Fixit, imploringly, "_Could you take a look at it for me? And maybe fix it before Ratchet comes back? If he found out about this I'd be welded into the wall for sure. And I'm have duty next joor!_"

Fixit laughed. "_Sure thing kid. We'll have you all patched up in time for your shift, just pull up a seat and we'll have a look_," The mini-medic chuckled.

Bluestreak looked around for a moment and found a near-by stool. Pulling it closer with his good arm while keeping the other close to his body, he sat down and placed his injured arm atop the table for Fixit to see. It was only then that his eyes fell on Brea, who had successfully recovered from her unpleasant flash back.

His dour demeanor brightened and he smiled. "Oh! Hi there."

Brea smiled back. "Hello."

"I was wondering how you were doing," He said. "I wanted to check up on your sooner, but I had double shifts and now with Mirage on the recovery list it just makes everything harder to fit in, y'know? We've been trying to get more Mechs to help us out but so far we've only gotten a few 'maybes' so it'll be double shifts until that changes. I hope it does soon too. So, Ratchet still has you locked up in here, huh?"

Brea nodded, "Jazz did manage to sneak me into The Sanctuary earlier, but Ratchet found out. I still have a few joors left till I'm free…"

"Oh well that's not too long," Bluestreak said enthusiastically.

"Maybe, but when you don't have anything to do it's like an eternity," Brea replied, walking closer and sitting down. "How did Mirage get hurt?"

"Oh, well he's our espionage expert," Bluestreak answered, "He goes around and gathers information and stuff. I wasn't with him at the time, but he was scouting out the area around a euthanizing compound and I guess he must have been caught, otherwise how did he get that blast through the shoulder? A little more to the right and it might have severed his whole arm off. Isn't that what you said Fixit?"

Bluestreak looked towards the third presence in the room who was currently looking, poking, and prodding between the armor plating of Bluestreak's arm, into where Brea could only assume was the elbow joint.

"Yep," Fixit replied. "Just a few degrees more and the main connecting supports would have been shattered and there would have only been some Energon and coolant lines to keep it connected to his body. He's a lucky glitch, I'll tell you that. Of course he'll just call it _skill_."

Bluestreak laughed. "Only Mirage would claim that it's a skill not getting your arms and stuff blown off. The again he gets shot at so often, maybe he's developed one, who knows. Mirage's secret 'not getting killed' maneuver! Ha. I'm sure Ironhide wouldn't mind learning those kinds of moves. He use to get shot up every mission back during the war and he never complained once about it. If it weren't for Ratchet always nagging him about getting fixed, he'd probably have kept all the dents and stuff as like badges of honor or something."

"Is he OK now?" She asked, feeling a little nervous about all the talk of appendages being blown off.

Bluestreak looked confused. "Ironhide?"

"No, Mirage."

Bluestreak sent her a smile. "Oh _sure_, he's fine. But his processor is calibrated so that he shoots with his left hand and one of the gears in his left arm was damaged so he can't really use it and we don't have the supplies to replace it. So he's stuck in his quarters or out trying to get volunteers until either we get more funding or Jazz secures more supplies. I heard Hound's been thinking about it. I haven't talked to him lately but I think he'd like helping out here. I bet Bumblebee would too, but he has that clerk job up at the Citadel, so he might not leave. If my job paid that well I don't think I'd wanna leave it either. I'm kind of surprised Optimus got Prowl to ever agree to leave his personal staff at all to come help out here."

"You know how Prowl is," Fixit replied, "If Prime asked him to take a skiff and fly into the nearest star, he'd probably do it."

"Maybe, but he'd point out how illogical it was first," Bluestreak laughed.

"Point being he'd still do it."

Bluestreak laughed, leaning back a little and causing to Fixit to snap at him to not move.

"Speaking of the Citadel and orders, is there any news from Prime?" Fixit asked.

The grey Mech's wing panels drooped.

"Nothing we didn't expect to hear," Bluestreak replied in voice that was barely above a whisper. "Xeon was declared clean by the investigation committee. And so has Ratbat and Onslaught."

Brea's happy mood deflated instantaneously and she felt her insides drop. The Micromaster paused in his ministrations to fix Bluestreak with a disbelieved look. "They didn't find _anything_?"

_Of course they didn't find anything._ Brea seethed to herself. _Xeon had that…that creepy yellow guy—ah what's his name...Swindle!— he had Swindle change everything! Didn't Mirage tell them about it?_

She sat and listened to the two Mech, all the while feeling her anger and frustrations mount. Under it all, another feeling began to grow as well…fear.

"Nope. Not a thing," Bluestreak replied. "All their documents matched and corresponded with the others'. The committee didn't have the jurisdiction to go any deeper without real probable cause. Even Prime couldn't win them the clearance for it. Red was pretty fritz. Said he was on the verge of a real case breaker when the Senate denied them a warrant. He's been reviewing the copies of the documentation looking for any discrepancies."

"It's defiantly a setback, but if anyone can find them, Red Alert can," Fixit added. "What about the other side, what're they up to?"

"Dunno. Mirage is out of commission until we get supplies and Prowl doesn't feel I'm ready to take his place. Which I understand, I mean I don't think I'm ready either. I may switch jobs with Jazz, he's better at the intelligence thing then me. Plus his model is easier to disguise so he can slip around into places my model would stick out."

"Yeah, you specialty models aren't very good at blending in." Fixit waved vaguely to the Mech's wing panels, "Then again, half of the population still carries a weapon, so maybe not."

Bluestreak laughed. "That's true. When we went to Kaon to get Brea here, I saw this one Mech who was armed to the back rotors in artillery. I dunno if any of it was loaded, but Kaon's pretty iffy on the weapon restrictions and the agreement anyway. Nice up there at the skyline sure, but the ground is as shady as it was during the war, just with less flying shrapnel and Decepticon patrols. There's the occasional landmine though."

"It's not so great up there," Brea added dejectedly.

Bluestreak sent her a smile, "I guess you'd know best, huh?"

A shadow fell over her face at the emerging recollection and she lowered her head to stare at the floor. She raised her hand to her neck, racing the images engraved into the metal collar. "Yeah…"

The Mech realized his blunder and tried rapidity to remedy his carelessness.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that!" Bluestreak exclaimed, distressed. "I didn't mean to make you sad, I'm sorry Brea!"

"It's OK," She assured him, but the tone of her voice betrayed her.

The two Mechs glanced at each other and then at her, both broadcasting their sympathy.

"Hey," Fixit said, calling Brea's attention to him.

"Hm?" She said, lifting her head.

"When I'm done patching Blue up here we'll look into getting that collar off. How does that sound?"

She sat there and stared dumbly at the smaller Mech, for a moment not fully processing what he'd just said, and then smiled appreciatively at him. Relief filled her eyes. "That sounds great. Thank you."

The Micromaster and Mech both seemed to brighten up at that and there seemed to be a sudden desire to switch topics.

"So, uh…How did you get hurt?" Brea asked the large grey Mech.

Bluestreak looked away sheepishly. "Well…that's why I was asking if Ratchet was in…he gets mad over unnecessary repairs and stuff like that. Especially with our low supplies. And this was kind of my fault so…yeah…"

"_Kinda_ or _totally_?" Fixit asked, his words sounding like a friendly jib then a real question.

Bluestreak's shoulder panes drooped again. "Kinda totally."

Brea giggled, her spirits higher. "So what, did you fall down the stairs or something?"

The grey Mech sat a little straighter, "No, nothing like that. I uh…kinda challenged Sideswipe to an arm wrestling match…"

Brea burst into a fit of giggles while Fixit merely looked between the pair, confused.

"You what?"

"Well Sean and Rodney are always doing it and I wanted to try it so I asked Sideswipe if he'd do it with me and he said sure." Bluestreak looked downcast. "He won."

Fixit opened his mouth to reply, but Brea's continuous giggling seemed to disrupt his train of thought and he sent her an odd look.

"What is _arm wrestling_?" He asked and Brea fell into another fit, holding her middle and gasping for breath.

Bluestreak considered. "It's when you….uh…well…you and another person…well…you kinda hold hands and try to push the other person's hand down and stuff…it's hard to explain…"

Fixit deadpanned.

"Here," Brea said breathlessly, rising from the floor. She walked up to Fixit, still giggling, and reached out and grabbed his hand. "You and another guy sit across from each other at a table and lock hands like this. Then you try to push you opponent's arm down so it touches the table. Then you win."

The medic studied his hand and glanced at Brea.

"Sounds pointless…" Fixit replied.

Brea grinned. "Lesson 101 in Understanding Humans: a lot of what we do is pointless."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **Yay another chapter! This is kind of a filler chapter, kinda. Not much action, but it's a semi-vital chapter nontheless. I had a blast writing the Micromasters. It's so easy to imagine them as a bunch of frat boys. lol. As always; please read and review. Critisism welcome, but please keep it constructive. Or I shall have to sit on you.

Phase eight: Ball and Chain

Chapter Sixteen

* * *

"Are you sure this is the only way to do this? Aren't there like...special master sequences you can use to get it off or something?" She asked warily, feeling a heavy dread begin to pull on her; the elation from earlier having been evaporated, leaving her with nothing but apprehension and doubt.

"I'm pretty sure," Fixit assured her. The Mech fixed her with a gentle look, "If you're that uncomfortable with it we can just leave it on. We don't have to do this, we could maybe—"

"No!" She snapped, cutting his alternative off and surprising him with the force of her refusal. Brea closed her eyes, memories of the last time she had gone through a similar process running like propaganda through her mind, but her desire for it to be removed outweighed the fear. If only by a little. "I want it off. Even if you have to hold me down to do it…I was just...y'know. Venting."

Beside her, Fixit grabbed a small sheet of the foil cloth and handed it to her. "Alright then. Tuck this under the collar. It'll keep the flame from burning you if my hands slips or something. Might get a little toasty."

"O-okay…" She stared dumbly at it and felt a rise of indignation. _I wish they'd used this stuff the first time, _she thought acidly. _Maybe I wouldn't have these scars then and this wouldn't be so hard!_ She obediently tucked the small square of cloth under the metal where Fixit would be dividing the collar. Behind her, Bluestreak (elbow now fully repaired) sat and watched.

"Are you sure you want to do this Brea?" Bluestreak asked, seeing how nervous she seemed and having his own apprehensions about the procedure. "I'm sure there's some other way to—"

"It's okay, Blue," She said. "I just…need a moment…"

"It just seems like you could—"

"No," she asserted, "This needs to be done…I...need this to be done…"

The Micromaster studied her, seeming to have second thoughts himself. "Are you alright?" Fixit asked her gently.

"Yeah, it's just…" Brea closed her eyes and forced the rampant images to go away. "I've gone through this kind of thing before and…it…something went wrong…I got burnt. Bad. So don't freak when you see them and think you did it…'cause, y'know…you didn't. Just…be careful."

Fixit placed a hand on her head, making her look up at him, and smiled down at her. "Don't worry about it. I'm a programmed medic, not some glitch-head who thinks he's qualified to do delicate welding just because he's downloaded a few applications." He beamed. "I'm a professional."

Brea tried to smile, but it came off very weak. She wanted to believe him, for all the world she did, but there always seemed to be that little voice that made her question everything. Even herself.

"Just…don't panic." He offered inanely with a shrug.

Brea had to smile at that, wondering if he was actually quoting the _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy _or if it was just a coincidence. Probably the latter. Either way, she was grateful for the comment. It made her smile.

"Think happy thoughts," She added, though she wasn't surprised the reference went unnoticed.

"Sure if that helps," Fixit shrugged and she felt a little disappointed, but she let it go. "Alright, Brea. I need you to lay back for me, okay."

"O-ok," Brea sat down on the ground and pushed her arms back to support her. Her mind felt scattered.

Fixit studied her and then looked up at Bluestreak. "Blue would you hold her up for me?"

"Sure." Brea felt Bluestreak's hands come up from behind her and she leaned back into his open palm. She looked up and saw him smiling down at her. "Thanks Bluestreak."

"No problem" He replied.

She turned to look forward and watched as Fixit gathered his weapon of choice; it looked like a thick wand more then a welding torch, but she'd never seen the tip of a wand burst into flames before. He twisted the base until the orange and red fire died down to a bright blue.

_Oh god…_

He looked at her. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," She said, surprising herself at how certain she sounded.

The Micromaster nodded. "Alright," He approached her. "Hold very still."

She closed her eyes …

* * *

_Without rhyme or reason, she ran. Her path lay sprawled out before her in a haze of mist. She had no reason to assume so, but she knew if she reached the end of the path, she would find what she was seeking. Just a little farther…a little more. _

"_You're species is alive because of me," A voice called out, echoing dimly. _

_A chill ran down her spine and she pushed harder and faster towards the end. _

No_, she thought. _It's not…it's not real…

"_We could have easily killed you all off and harvested the planet as we wish, but the humans race lives on here, because I decided so."_

Go away! You're not real!

_Harder, faster. She pumped her legs, urging them forward. Up ahead, she saw the light, the end of the path. Bare feet slapped against the ground. Her foot reached forward to take another step— _

"_Do not mistake my generosity for genocide."_

—_and the ground beneath her snapped, giving way, and she fell into darkness as her screams echoed into forever. _

* * *

"Brea?"

She opened her eyes to see Fixit staring down at her. She looked around confusedly before memory returned, wondering why her heart was beating so fast. Looking into Fixit's right hand, she saw that he held a circle of gold metal that had been split down its width, edges bubbled out from the heat of the welding torch.

She blinked away the residual wariness encroaching upon her body. _Well that was fast…_

Hastily, she reached up to touch her neck, delighted when instead of feeling the constricting metal collar, she felt her own skin. She broke out in a bright smile.

"It's off," She stated the obvious and didn't care. "It's off!"

Fixit smiled at her enthusiasm. "Yep. And will be forever."

He tossed it aside and Brea watched with glee as it bounced away. She pushed off from Bluestreak's hand and stood up, feeling like she should dance or something, but managed to keep her composure. Fixit's smile faded as his optics trailed down to her scars. Brea's delighted disposition popped like a preverbal bubble and she brought her hand up to cover the scars in an almost innate reaction. She couldn't help but feel a swell of shame.

So strange, it seemed, what feeble hopes people cling to and when they're disbanded, how easily shattered they feel. It was bizarre to have even thought of it, but Brea had silently hoped that, somehow, they scars the collar was masking were, perhaps, not really there or that they had somehow magically healed. Fixit's visage shattered the meager wish and she knew that those scars would be there forever...she would never escape them.

So wrapped up in her thoughts, Brea hadn't even noticed when Fixit came up to her. She flinched when she felt his hand gently touch her own that was pressed to her neck in a paltry attempt to cover the markings. Looking up into Fixit's face, she saw him smile and felt a flicker of confusion.

"Let me see," he said quietly. "Lower your hand."

She did so, feeling the pit of her stomach squirm in discomfort as he studied the marks. She felt him trace one thick metal finger over the smooth scar tissue, causing her skin to tingle.

"Well, they don't look _too_ bad. Do they hurt at all?" Fixit asked, his gaze flickering back to her.

"No." She answered simply.

"Someone must have really screwed up to do that much damage," He commented and frowned and muttered darkly to himself, "Stupid fraggers..."

Brea heard laughter and was surprised to discover it was her.

* * *

She awoke from a nap she didn't recall falling into (which seemed to happen a lot, she noticed) to the sound of faint voices that brought her muzzily congealing thoughts to the present and she looked around. A voice, cheery and obnoxiously loud, rang out.

"Hey look who decided to join us! Come over for a spell, kid!"

"Stakeout don't you dare!" Fixit barked. "Do you have any idea what unprocessed Energon could do to a-"

"Ah _calm down_ Fix, I wasn't _re-e-eally_ gonna give her any. I may be reckless but I'm not stupid—ah, don't you say _anything_ Red Hot!"

"I wasn't." Replied a mild, composed, and amused voice.

"But you were thinking it."

"That's not a crime. Last I checked anyway."

Brea sat up and blinked away the fogginess, her vision clearing to reveal four Micromasters congregating around Fixit's work bench. Two of them, she recognized as Fixit and Stakeout, but the other two she didn't know. One was black with blue arms, a black face mask covering his mouth, while the other was red and white with a blue helm.

_How patriotic_, she thought muggily.

"Am I free yet?" She asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"One track mind, huh?" Fixit laughed. "Close. You still have half a joor left."

"Crap." She ran one hand through her tangled hair, regretting her unintentional nap. Her head hurt, she was sleepy, and groggy. She felt drunk and hung over at the same time. Flopping back down onto her bed, she sighed. "Is it possible to really die of boredom?"

"Ah, you wimp," Stakeout jeered. "I've had worse then a few joors stuck in here. Ever been sent to the brig? You could really die of boredom down there, I tell you."

"My question is still valid," Brea raised her hand, pointing upwards with her index finger in gesture, before allowing the appendage to fall limply back onto of her side. She struggled to sit back up, crossing her legs and trying to untangle the mess of fluff on her head into something a little more presentable. She glanced at the assembled Mechs, noticing they were all drinking from cubes of glowing pink liquid. She looked over the assembly in confusion.

"So…" She asked at length. "What's the occasion?"

Fixit grinned. "We had some a major break-through while you were out," The Mech said. "Red Alert found a mistake on one of the documents that contradicted some of the other side's claims. The investigation's back on. And this time they have a warrant to search everything. Processing facilities, factories. Anything. Even Mechs with humans as pets can be investigated with probably cause."

Brea suddenly felt very awake. "Really?"

"Yep!" Stakeout cheered, raising his cube in the air before pulling down to his lips and draining it.

"And we got some press coverage," the black and grey Mech added. "The Iacon News Bureau aired a report on the Arena fighters and the betting rings. Apparently one of their journalists infiltrated their group and broke the whole thing wide open and a got a bunch of Mechs arrested. How many humans did they say they seized, Seawatch?"

"About 20 I think," The other unknown Mech replied. "All adult males."

"They got a nice shot of the group too. Poor little guys, looked liked slag. Definitely need some medical attention too."

"…Where are they now?" Brea asked, feeling her stomach drop.

"They're being held at the Police compound on the other side of the city pending on an investigation," Fixit said. "Optimus Prime and Prowl are on their way there to request the group to be transferred here."

"We'll have to start making more of those sheds, then," Stakeout said. "How much material do you think we'd need Red Hot?"

The last unnamed Mech shrugged. "I think we have enough material left to fabricate maybe five more dwellings. We might have to pair them up or something. I think we're still tight on the funds."

"That news report was the first coverage of any human presence on Cybertron," The Mech named Seawatch added, looking over at Brea, "Most of the human-slave trading is underground, real secretive. A lot of folks don't even know about it or if they do, they don't know much about it."

"But it's technically not illegal is it?" Brea asked, recalling the conversation between Xeon and Viral that seemed to have taken place so long ago.

The group drooped as if caught in a lie.

"By our current laws?" Fixit said, a hint of shame coming through, "No, but it _should_ be. We do have old _directives_ forbidding desecration of underdeveloped worlds and undiscovered and/or new species. The problem is whether or not they're considered relevant. They're really old, from before the wars and were created in regards to other silicon based organisms, not carbon-based like you humans. Right now those Mechs are being held on charges of illegal betting and for organizing unauthorized fighting matches. They can't be charged with enslavement until the Law recognizes humans as sentient beings. Which won't be too hard. We might be able to pin them with abuse though."

"Of course their buddy Xeon's probably posted bail already," Stakeout grumbled.

Brea was silent at the Mech's words. Her mind swirled with mingled emotions; overwhelming happiness at the news of such a break through and then the stomach dropping feeling of anger and resentment over hearing that Xeon was aiding in his cronies' case.

"Maybe that news report can generate some sympathy and we can actually start doing some real good. We need more volunteers though."

"Speaking of which; hey Fixit?" Red Hot grinned. "Guess what Prowl told me?"

"What's that?"

"He and Prime ran into some old friends earlier. You're favorite scientist is coming to lend us his oh-so-helpful self for the good of our cause."

There was a stiff pause during which Brea looked between the faces of the assembled Mechs, hoping to find some form of clarification.

"…which one?" Fixit asked finally, sounding as if he feared to know the truth, "The one that blows up or the Universe's largest collection of useless knowledge?"

Brea blinked at the Mech, slightly alarmed. _…Blows up?_

Red Hot beamed smugly. "Both actually."

Fixit looked ill. "You said Scientist, as in singular!"

"Well, if you wanna be technical," Seawatch offered with a shrug, "Wheeljack's actually an engineer."

Fixit groaned and banged his head against the table. His brothers all laughed.

"Don't worry," Stakeout comforted his brother, patting his shoulder. "Ratchet's already getting ready to reinforce the place, I'm sure."

"We don't have the money for that!" Fixit whined, voice slightly muffled from the table.

"Actually, Wheeljack's paying for it, I think," Red Hot laughed.

"Oh well that's OK then." Fixit said sarcastically and sighed, looking over at Brea and pointed at her. "Run while you can Brea. They're coming and no one is safe!"

The gathering all chuckled and Brea felt she was missing the joke.

"What?" Brea asked, conflicted over whether or not to laugh along with the others or be alarmed.

"Wheeljack and Perceptor are coming." He told her sternly, but still made her wonder f he was actually being serious. "Run while you can. Because if either of them catches you you'll never get away."

"…_o-o-okay_…" She looked to the other Micromaster to find them all fighting to hold back giggles. "Translation, please, maybe?"

"Well, Perceptor's one of Iacon's top scientists and a specialist in Organics. And he's a bit…uh…what's the right word?"

"Inquisitive?" offered Red Hot.

"Enthusiastic?" Seawatch replied.

"Fanatical is a better word." Fixit amended.

"How about logical?" Stakeout said.

"Annoying you mean…" Fixit grumbled.

"Loquacious?" Seawatch added.

"_Oooh_, good one 'Watch!"

"Thanks."

"Did I mention _annoying_?"

Brea stared on dubiously. "I think I get it guys…"

"And Wheeljack's kind of the polar opposite; the eccentric type. He's…well," Stakeout sniggered, "Wheeljack has a tendency to cause random and spontaneous explosions."

Brea's eyes widened in alarm. "_What_?" She asked, "Really?"

All four Micromasters stared her in the eyes, pure seriousness on their faces, and nodded. "_Yes_."


	17. Chapter 17

**Authors notes:** Updates a few days early because I felt like it. I'm several chapter ahead but I like having a good number of chapters in reserve to keep me safe from any potential writer's blocks or periods of procrastination. I am prone to those. Once again, thank you everyone who has read and reviewed this story! I'm happy to be able to provide a service that makes people happy. It gives me the warm fuzzies. Not much goings on at my end really. Same old same old. My supervisor at work is trying to get me in as a full time employee (I've been a temp since the begining of summer 07, after I graduated high school) and as a full on employee, I would get a raise (WOOT!) and be elligible for the company's benefits (health insurence, vacation time, etc. Paid sick leave. All the good stuff) and I'm already enrolled in the company's 401k (YAYNESS). Essentially A 401K (for you younger folks who don't know) is like a savings account your employers uses and puts a certain of your check into everyweek to go towards your retirement. The sooner you start one the better. More money for you when you retire.

* * *

Phase eight: Ball and Chain

Chapter Seventeen

* * *

Brea had never really seen Ratchet laugh before, but the Medic positively burst into hysteric giggles when she asked him if the Mech that the Micromasters had mentioned really _did_ cause random and spontaneous explosions.

"They said that, did they?" He asked after he'd composed himself. Brea was sitting cross-legged on the counter while Ratchet was putting away some medical supplies into various cupboards, drawers, and cabinets.

"…Yeah," She said, feeling stupid for being so gullible.

"Well, they're not too far from the truth really," He replied and Brea looked at him, startled. "He likes to drabble in what we've called 'extreme engineering'."

Brea had a sudden mental image of a scientist climbing a rock face while mixing dangerous and highly explosive chemicals. She stared up at the Mech, squinting in confusion. "Meaning…?"

"Meaning he's the kind of Mech who tries out theories and experiments that no other sane Mech with working logic circuits would even considered attempting. That's where the explosions come in. I've patched his chassis more times then any other Mech. Even the Twins. Ask 'em when you see them, they'll vouch for me."

"Ah…and how likely is it that he could blow something up here?"

Ratchet leaned on the counter, staring down at her in amusement. "They really have you going with this, don't they?"

Brea blushed and narrowed her eyes, looking away. "No…I just…"

He flapped a hand at her dismissively. "Don't worry about it," He told her, "We need the help. Besides, Wheeljack won't be doing any experiments here. I'll make sure of it."

Brea furrowed her brow, her mind conjuring up the mental image of Ratchet locking away all the dangerous chemicals into a 'Wheeljack-proof' cabinet.

"Besides," Ratchet continued with a shrug, "You'll be down in the Sanctuary when they arrive. If he blows anything up you won't be in any danger."

"So am I free?" Brea asked hopefully, sitting up straight, and eyes sparkling hopefully.

"Yes, but you'll have to wait another quarter of a joor," Ratchet said, "I have something to finish before they arrive and then I'll bring you down OK?"

Brea deflated and flopped onto the ground in defeat, feeling like a wounded animal. She groaned. "_No-o-o-o-o_!"

* * *

"That was the longest hour and a half of my life!" Brea stated as Ratchet walked down the hall way, taking the same route Jazz had the other day.

"You need to learn how to be patient," Ratchet told her and she immediately thought of an old saying about something involving a kettle.

"I'll learn patience the day you stop hitting people," Brea replied with a little more vice then she meant. She still had a goose egg on her head from before.

Pinning the girl with a look, he said, "I could always take you back, you know…" To signify his point, Ratchet turned his body around as if he were about to walk back to the infirmary.

"No, no, no! I'm sorry!" She amended with alacrity, waving her arms as if to stop the Medic from backtracking. Ratchet dutifully turned back and resumed the original path, chuckling. They traveled in silence for a while, mostly because Brea didn't really have much to say and Ratchet seemed to prone to silence unless prompted to speak.

Lost in her own thoughts, Brea came back to reality when her chaperone suddenly paused. Looking around her, she caught sight of two Mechs walking up the halls towards them, their foot falls echoing loudly. She felt a jolt of apprehension run through her, as she did whenever she saw a Mech she did not know; and also because these two Mechs were _big_. A head taller then Ratchet, the two matched Xeon's own towering height. Their contrasting colors made them stand out starkly against the bleak and colorless grey halls. The Mech at the front was colored a bright sheen of Red while his fellow that tailed him was a happy, sunshine, yellow. Red was clutching something in his hands.

She felt the hand beneath her vibrate when Ratchet growled. "If you two are heading to the infirmary don't bother," He growled. "I don't have time to bang out your dents right now."

The red one's face bore a look of mock pain. "Why Ratchet, I'm crushed! How could you think that we—"

"Save it," Ratchet grouched. "I have more important things to do then to patch your…"

"It's not us," Yellow grumbled, electric blue optics narrowing in annoyance. His expression was an ironic contrast to his joyfully yellow body.

"It's Kimberly," Red suddenly interjected, turning his palm to reveal what he'd been clutching to his chest. Ratchet's anger dissipated in a blip. A young girl about Brea's age was curled against the metal fingers, a head of fluffy red hair that was disheveled and tangled. She turned her face from the red metal and looked up and Brea felt her insides turn cold. Her eyes widened.

_Oh my god…it's her! _

It was the girl from the transport ship, the one who had tried to escape. The one Lady Viral had taken from the processing facility as her pet.

The girl glanced over and their eyes locked. From the startled look in the girl's own eyes, Brea was sure that she probably recognized her as well. The girl's hand rose to her neck as if in gesture to signify that she, indeed, recognized Brea. Something silent and incomprehensible seemed to pass between them, their eyes never wavering from one another. Memories flooded back to Brea in a torrent and puzzle pieces suddenly seemed to come together, sewing into one another to create a tapestry of events she could read like an open book.

Lady Viral's voice, shrill and grating, echoed in her mind: _"I enrolled my own little Aida in the breeding program! She has the most striking features. That fluff on their heads? Well, my little Aida's is bright red. I simply had to have another just like her! No conceptions yet, but I am hopeful we see results soon. Only the top gladiator will do for my pet, but it seems as though they make poor breeders._"

Brea felt sick. She didn't know anything about this 'breeding program', but looking into the girl's eyes…Brea had a sickening feeling it was nothing pleasant.

Or consensual.

Viral had called her _Aida_ though…Red had called her _Kimberly_. As she pondered that, Xeon's voice drifted into her mind: _"Acceptable. You may keep your given name."_

Given name. Had Viral…changed this girl's name? Was Kimberly's pet-name _Aida_?

"What's wrong with her?" Ratchet's voice broke her from her thoughts.

"I think she might have been contaminated by whatever Preston has," Red replied. "Her core temperature is elevated and she's been doing that spasm thing with her ventilation systems…"

"You mean coughing?' Ratchet asked flatly.

"Yeah that."

"Alright," Ratchet conceded. "Go up and have a seat and wait. I gotta take this one down to the Sanctuary first before she deactivates from boredom."

The Red Mech seemed to just then realize Brea was there. "Oh," he said, face breaking into a pleasant smile, "Hey there. When'd we get this one?"

"Little over an orn ago," Ratchet replied.

"Really? Where was I?"

"I ask myself that all the time," Ratchet replied flippantly.

The Red Mech looked unamused, "Ha ha, very funny."

"Well go on," Ratchet instructed, gesturing back up the hall, "I'll be back in a few breems."

"Will do Doc."

As Ratchet continued down the hall, the other group heading the opposite way, Brea's eyes lingered on the girl until she was out of sight. Turing back around to face the open corridor, Brea's mind fluttered. "So…that's Kimberly," She said quietly.

"Yes," Ratchet replied cheerlessly. "Those two Mechs are Sideswipe and Sunstreaker; they rescued her from some rich Femme."

A pause.

"Lady Viral." Brea supplied and Ratchet stopped.

"…you know Lady Viral?" He asked, surprised.

"Not…really," She replied, still sounding distant, almost as if she were in shock. "She came to visit Xeon once. And she was always sending him invitations to her parties and stuff. She lives in the tower across from his office and I use to watch the parties from the window. And also I…" She broke off, trying to line up her thoughts, "I've seen her before too…Kimberly I mean."

Ratchet did not continue down the hall. Instead, he just stood there and Brea took that as meaning he wanted to hear more. "She was on the same ship as me that brought us here. And she was at the same processing facility. I never talked with her though…"

Another pause.

"She can't," Ratchet replied quietly, a very audible sadness coloring his voice.

"What?" Brea asked, not understanding the medic's meaning.

"She _can't_ speak," He repeated, sounding oddly forlorn, "Kimberly's hasn't said a word since those two rescued her from Viral."

Brea stared off into space at the information. It didn't quite sink in.

"Sideswipe said she spoke a little when he first met her; told him her name and things like that," Ratchet explained, continuing the path down to the Sanctuary, but at a slower pace. "But I suppose she was so traumatized her mind just snapped and when she was brought here we couldn't get a peep from her. For the first two orns she wouldn't let anyone but Sideswipe or Sunstreaker _near_ her. She would start crying and thrashing about. She had an infection and I couldn't get close enough to treat it. I had to get those two to actually sedate her so I could give her the injection," A mornful pause, "That's why we wanted to take it slow with you," He looked down at her, his blue eyes seemed to dim, "…we didn't want you snap or go mute like she did. We had to be careful. I would have perfered to have gone even slower then we have, but you seem to be adjusting well enough and everyone seems to agree we should allow you into the main population."

Brea stared into the Mechs face, feeling odd. She felt grateful they wanted to be careful with her, that they seemed to care that much, but also there was a deep sense of shame when she thought about Kimberly. It was dizzying to think about it. How easy would it have been for their fortunes to have been swapped, that she was sent to Xeon and Brea to Viral. How easy it would have been…

"_Domesticated doesn't mean their tame. It's a term we use to describe humans who're brought in as pets. Y'know… like Kimberly._"

"_They can have a lot of psychological and social problems. Most of the domesticated ones are kept solitarily with little to no social interaction with their own species and kept under total submission. After a time, it starts to mess with their heads. We don't know when or how long she's been captive so we won't know the extent of the damage until later, after we see how she reacts to the group._"

"_We don't want to scare her or she won't be able to tell us anything."_

"_I realize that, Prowl, but we have to be more delicate with the domesticated ones. For all we know she could be mentally unstable. We don't want a repeat of what happened to Kimberly." _

"_No much of a talker are ya?"_

Brea reached up and touched her neck, feeling the smoother scar tissue. It made her ill to think about it. What would she be like now if Kimberly was the one with these burns, and Brea the one without a voice?

* * *

Upon entering the clearing that housed the metal sheds, Brea caught the familiar form of Bluestreak sitting on the ground. On his left shoulder was an unfamiliar small boy with light brown hair and sitting on Blue's leg was a girl of the same age and hair color. The fire pit blazed with brilliant flames and a delicious smell was wafting up from the pot perched over it on the metal grate. Sitting around the pit were several older humans, softly chatting. Brea instantly recognized Caleb who was sitting in between two other boys, both older then him and both with dark brown hair instead of his dirty blonde. Beside them sat an older man, bald and strongly built, who looked to be in his mid forties. A tall thin woman with raven black hair stood back from the group, holding baby Becky, swaying and rocking the child in her arms.

As Ratchet entered the clearing, all chatter ceased and those present turned to look towards them.

"Hello Ratchet," Bluestreak greeted the medic first and turned to Brea, smiling good naturedly. "Hey Brea."

She smiled back. Assembled greeting were ushered from the humans and Caleb smiled up at her. Ratchet bent down and allowed Brea to scoot off the edge of his hand. Turning to face the group, Brea was relieved to see Caleb coming up to her. She felt her heart give a little leap.

"Welcome back," He grinned, taking her hand, "C'mon over and have a seat."

Brea allowed Caleb to guide her over to where he had been sitting. He motioned to one of the boys to scoot over. "Make some room Roddy."

The boy obligingly moved over and Caleb sat down, never letting go of Brea's hand and she followed him down, taking a seat on his left and next to the other boy.

"How's Preston's condition?" Ratchet asked.

The raven haired woman turned to look up at the Mech, "He's eating but only a little. Too much makes him nauseous. I'll see how he takes to the soup. If that doesn't work I'll make him some broth to see if he takes better to that."

Ratchet glanced towards the shed where, presumably, the aforementioned human was sleeping and back to the woman.

"Make sure to take precaution around him," The medic said, "I think whatever he has is contagious. Kimberly seems to have become sick with something too."

The dark haired woman's brow furrowed and she nodded solemnly.

"And no Tylenol for a gazillion light years," the older man grumbled. "Times like this make me wish I'd finished med school."

"I'm heading back up to the infirmary to see to her," Ratchet said. Then he added, a slight worry in his tone, "Please watch his condition closely. If he gets worse come get me."

"We will Ratchet," The woman said reassuringly, "Don't worry."

"Thank you Annie," He said. Turning to Brea he placed his hands on his hips and said, "Alright, Brea, you're officially clear for release. If you have any questions or anything, just ask these guys. We try to have at least one Mech down here at all times, so you can ask them as well if you need anything."

"OK," she said, smiling, "Thanks Ratchet."

"I'll probably be down in a few joor with some guests," he said, "So I'll be checking in with you all later."

"Bye," the group said as the Medic retreated.

"Well Brea, welcome to the village," the older man said with a smile. "Sorry we weren't around to greet you before."

She just smiled. "Nah, it's OK. I was only here for like…ten or fifteen minutes."

"Jazz still has that dent in his head," Caleb said, grinning and tapping himself on the head. "He said it'd probably be there for another week."

Brea was suddenly reminded of her own experience at the receiving end of Ratchet's fist—er, finger and she looked over at Caleb. "Speaking of which: I thought you said Ratchet doesn't hit humans."

Caleb looked at her, baffled. "…he doesn't."

Brea grabbed the boy's hand and placed it on her head, over the goose egg Ratchet had given her. His eyes widened.

"_Bloody hell_!" He called, "He did that?"

"Yeah."

He grinned and turned to his brothers. "Hey guys, check this out!"

And then Brea, to her chagrin, suddenly found herself being virtually assaulted by the three brothers, all of them whistling and commenting about her being the only humans to have survived the wrath of Ratchet the Hatchet.

"Alright, that's enough," The older man barked and the three boys settled, muffling their snickers. Brea took a moment to fix her disheveled hair. "Don't need to go off and start harassing her."

"We weren't harassin' 'er," One of Caleb's brother said.

"Yeah Craig, we were just goofing." Said the other.

"Well stop. You three will drive her away before introductions are even made." The man turned to her and smiled. "Hi, I'm Craig, nice to meet you."

"I'm Brea," She replied.

"Well you know me," Caleb said, "And these are my brothers Sean and Rodney. That's Annie over there and you know Becky. And the two monkeys up there are Zoë and Izzy."

Brea turned around to glance at the two children who were using Bluestreak as a jungle gym, although the Mech didn't seem to mind at all, rather he seemed to enjoy the children's attention. The boy Izzy was trying to climb down the Mech's chest, but misstepped and almost fell, but Bluestreak's hand shot up and caught the child before he could do little more then slide down a few feet. Zoë was contently sitting on the Mech's leg, leaning against his foot and looking as if she was ready to take a nap.

"And Preston's still sick," Caleb finished on a sad note. "Kimberly's almost never around so don't worry about her. She only shows up to eat or use the privy. Rest of the time she's with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker or wandering around on her own."

"Yeah we past them in the halls," Brea said. "She might be sick too."

"Hopefully it's nothing serious and it'll pass." Annie commented.

"Probably only after we've all had it though," Sean mumbled.

"So Brea," Annie asked, handing Becky to Craig before walking up to the simmering pot over the grated fire. "Are you hungry? I just made some soup."

"Yes, thank you," Brea smiled, the prospect of have a hot, real, meal instead of raw fruit and vegetables sounded absolutely heavenly.

"Alright," the woman smiled. "Let me get you bowl."

As the raven haired woman poured some thick red soup into a metal bowl for her, Brea couldn't help but allow her thoughts to drift to the one human not present in the little camp; Kimberly.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Notes:** As I wrote out the story line for future reference, I realized how...emo it was getting. So I've been revising it. I really don't want Brea to turn into an Emo-girl. Well...she might already...y'know...with the 'Oh noes I destroyed the world! Guilty by association' deal. Yeah. That would not be good. Yes! So I update once more, twice in one week! Yippee-skippy, are you all happy? Good! lol. Now review! Reviews make me happy and validate my existance! You dont want to not exist do you? Then review!

Also to Turtlegirl in regards to your review: If you're insinuating that I might have stolen/copied other people's work/ideas, I'd like to say that this fic has been in the works for over a year, going through well over 5 variations. If I have stolen anything in any form, it would have been from the Mirrorverse Fanfic called 'His Master's voice', which is where the original inspiration came from. Copy fics aren't rare, they're abundant. But this is not one of them. The concept is entirly my own which I have been musing over for a while. The original concept actually resembled more along the lines of Titan AE, and it involved another girl (forgot what I named her) and Smokescreen...and the galactic mob...and headmasters...and a lost colony...and some other stuff. So yeah, there you go.

* * *

Phase Nine: Regrets

Chapter Eighteen

* * *

She awoke from a pleasant sleep to see the spot where Annie had been laying before vacant. Slowly sitting up straight, Brea looked around and yawned, stretching out her stiff joints. The little sheds had no floor, rather they ground was covered in grass, but thick folds of cloth had been placed inside to line the structure and make for a makeshift mattress. It was no Serta, but it was comfortable and pleasant. Gazing through the little cut out for a window, Brea saw the pleasant glow of the fake sun light and felt a little twinge of melancholy when she didn't hear any song birds or sounds of nature. She suppressed the negative thoughts, trying to stay positive and keep her mind concentrating on the things that made her happy.

Faint voices drifted through the open door, coaxing Brea from the lingering fog of her mind and she wobbled as she rose to her feet. Once she was certain her equilibrium would stay in place, she ventured to the doorway and peered out. Annie was at the fire pit, stirring the soup they had the previous 'night' while Craig was sitting with the frail looking man Brea had seen before, Preston. He still looked awfully pale and she could see his ribs through the skin of his chest. There was a sickly green tinge to his skin and a slight tremor to him as if it took all his strength to simply sit up. Craig was helping the man eat a bowl of soup, holding the dish to the man's face as he slowly drained its content, sip by slow sip while his own bowl sat next to him, momentarily forgotten.

As Brea stepped out of the shed, the others all looked towards her.

"Good morning Brea," Annie greeted her with a warm smile. "I'm afraid all we have for breakfast is more tomato soup. We sort of have a surplus and we're trying to use them up before they go bad."

"That's fine," She replied and took a seat on the ground, carefully pulling the hem of her dress over her legs so as not to accidentally _reveal_ anything. "I like tomato soup."

Preston motioned to Craig that he didn't want anymore and the other man placed the bowl on the ground beside him and took up his own. "Probably better then the crap those bucket heads fed ya, huh?" Preston asked, wiping a hand across his face.

"Definitely," She said as she accepted a bowl from Annie. It was wonderfully steaming hot and she raised it to her mouth and blew on it. "I wouldn't care if I never saw another piece of fruit in my life."

All three suddenly looked up at her incredulously, eyes blinking. Brea froze under their gazes and felt her stomach lurch. Slowly, she lowered her bowl. "…what?"

"Fruit?" Preston asked disbelievingly, eyes wide, "They fed you _fruit_?"

Brea felt her heart drop. It suddenly felt as though the world had iced over and she began to feel ill. She could barely meet their gazes as she replied, in a meekly uncertain voice, "Yeah…?"

There was a moment of awkward silence and the incredulity in their eyes did not leave. They stared at her as if waiting for her to admit otherwise.

"Well _fuck_," Preston replied, sifting into a more comfortable position. "All we had was that God-awful green lumpy shit."

"Ours was _brown_ lumpy shit," Craig added before draining the last of his soup.

Annie's long raven hair hung on her head in a tangled veil and she turned to Brea as if to say something, thought better of it, and turned back to the soup. The woman's hesitance only added to Brea's anxiety. A long moment passed during which Brea had the very distinct impression she had just said something very stupid and very inconsiderate.

"They really gave you fruit?" Annie asked finally. "What kind?"

She felt the weight of their stares, feeling thoroughly exposed and vulnerable. "Well...apples and oranges mostly…"

Whatever curiosity Annie had seemed to have been met and she nodded absently, eyes trailing back to the soup. Another awkward silence filled the space and Brea turned her eyes away from the others and pretended to be engrossed with her soup. She took slow shallow sips, her mind spinning. Somehow, she didn't feel like she deserved to be eating the soup. Were they angry at her for something? Was she a 'pampered pet' in their eyes? Did that somehow mean she didn't deserve to be there? Her stomach twisted itself into painful knots and she unexpectedly found her appetite to be lacking.

"You probably got some of our crop," Annie said distantly, snapping Brea from her worries.

Brea looked up at her. "Huh?"

Annie was silent for a moment, seeming to choose her words, "I was part of the labor force before I was rescued. Me and about sixty others, we grew, cared for, and harvested fruits and vegetables. There was an orchard and a field. It was like an industrialized farm. I worked in the garden as a field hand. Me and my group had to inspect and pick all the ripe food. We never knew where it all went, since all they gave us to eat was this grey stuff. We assumed the fruit and vegetables were ground up into the food or something. It was kind of like oatmeal, but it didn't really have a flavor," She paused. "Where were you kept?"

Brea was very aware of their stares and something inside her really didn't want her to answer, but she knew leaving the question without one would simply invite more suspicion and maybe…contempt? "I…" she hesitated, "I was a pet…to…to some Mech in Kaon."

Their reaction was just as she feared. They all nodded noncommittally, mumbling or grunting in the affirmative, but not really seeming to hear her…or _care_. There was almost an air of disrespect about them, as if they were jealous of her more fortunate circumstances. She suddenly felt very ashamed.

"Well, lucky, lucky you," Preston drawled and she felt the words dig into her so much she almost flinched as if they physically hurt. There was an almost offended inflection to his voice, as if to say she had nothing to complain about. "So you were pretty lucky then huh? Got through all of that mess unscathed I suppose?"

Brea felt anger bubble up at the mere idea that anything she went through had been nothing, but she suppressed it with a force of will.

"No…" She said, trying to hide the hurt in her voice. Raising her neck and brushing away her hair, she ran her hands across the scars and she could see their eyes bulge at the sight.

A moment's pause and then…

"_Oh my_ _God_," Annie left the soup and walked over to her, looking at the scars that they had all missed. "Oh my _God_! Sweetie, what happened?"

She was relieved to see the contempt leave their eyes and having it replaced with curiosity and perhaps a bit of…sympathy? It looked as though she had convinced them, that a pampered pet could still be a victim…that she was hurting too.

_See_, she thought in utter relief. _I am one of you. I deserve to be here too…_

"When I was being processed after first coming here, I got burned when they tried to tag me or something like that. They were going to send me away to be killed 'cause of it, but…the guy who owned me decided to keep me anyway. I was really lucky."

There was a pause while all those present seemed to absorb that. Preston grinned.

"Bitchin'," Preston said simply, making Brea smile. Annie shot him a dirty look and he shrugged. "_What_? It's like a battle scar or something."

* * *

She ran her hands across the fabric of the new dress that sat folded neatly in her lap, a strip of colored cloth tucked in between the folds, a sash. Annie had given the bundle to her and told her to change out of her old ones. Inside her shed, Brea stripped out of the dirty, worn, and ripped cloth before slipping into the new dress. She marveled at how easy it was to tell the difference between the two. Her old dress had been a sheet with head and arm holes, but the new dress was sewn with a curve and fitted her just right in places it should.

As she kicked her old dress away and slipped into her new one, Brea felt as if she were shedding her old life away like some a snake detaching its old skin to adorn a new one. Securing the cool blue colored sash around her waist, Brea ran her hands down the fabric in simple appreciation.

Upon exiting the shed where she had been changing, Brea glanced around to find only Annie sitting down near one of the sheds with Becky in her arms, the top of her own dress pulled down and the baby held close to her chest. Brea stared at the pair for a moment in confusion when she suddenly realized with a discomfited jolt that Annie was breast feeding the child. Annie looked up to meet Brea's gaze and the young girl squawked and whirled around in mortification, covering her eyes.

"Sorry!" Brea cried. "Sorry!"

She heard light lyrical laughter. "Oh don't be all embarrassed," Annie told her. "It's perfectly natural. You'll do the same when you have a baby. There's no room for modesty here, come over here and sit down. Don't be all shy."

Brea slowly turned back around to face Annie, but made sure to keep her eyes on the woman's face as she approached. Despite having been given 'permission' to look, Brea felt very uncomfortable, but tried to show some form of dignity and try not to look as though it bothered her and hoping she did not offend the woman. Her face must have been beet red.

"Just look at you, you're all sparkling new," Annie said with a smile as Brea sat down beside her, face flushing.

Brea returned the gesture despite her awkwardness, "Thanks…for the clothes I mean."

"No problem," The woman said, shifting Becky in her arms when she began to fuss, "Those old ones were horrible! You were in _dire_ need."

Brea spared a light laugh, more for the sake of the moment then actual amusement, all the while trying to untie the sailor knot in her stomach that modesty had made. Her inner self scoffed at her, reasoning that if Annie was OK with her being there and being witness to her partial nudity, then it was OK. But old beliefs and habits die hard.

But curiosity was an ever present motivation and Brea, despite herself, made a quick glance at Becky. The baby glanced back Brea, but quickly turned her attention back to her objective and likewise, Brea returned her eyes to the mother, silently hoping she hadn't noticed.

"Where is everyone?" she asked in an attempt to stir the conversation into a more comfortable direction.

"The boys are probably out playing soccer," Annie said casually, "Jazz brought us a big box of random stuff a while ago and there was an old volley ball in there. They've been using it as a soccer ball. Craig's probably doing laps or something."

"Doing laps? Why?"

"He was a physical fitness trainer," Annie explained, "He does two laps around the Sanctuary every day to keep in shape and stuff. Keeps him busy."

Brea smiled. "Yeah, I guess that's one way to occupy your time."

The other woman nodded. "That's the only real downside to this place. It's really easy to get bored. We're always trying to figure out ways to pass time or come up with routines to keep us busy. The garden helps a lot, but that can only go so far. What's really bad is we have no real sense of time here. You see the lights are on 24-7, so it's kind of hard to judge time, which makes it hard to schedule and make routines."

"You can ask them to dim the lights or something," Brea offered. "Like, set up a night and day period maybe."

"We've talked about something like that," Annie admitted, a hint of hesitance in her voice, "But we haven't talked to any of the big guys about it."

Brea tilted her head in confusion. "How come?"

Annie looked uncertain for a moment and shook her head, "I dunno; I guess we were afraid that if we made too many demands or we became a burden they might…decide we weren't worth helping and we'd end up back where we were before."

At first she thought the idea was ludicrous and something in her mind shifted. She tried to imagine that, being sent back…

Her chest constrict as memories of Xeon's tower flooded back to her and in a flash of a moment she was back there; alone in a giant room, with only the fleeting company with a Mech who was a monster to whom she had naively submitted herself. She could feel the cold air and smell the room's alien yet familiar scents. And for a brief moment, she found herself staring out of a window to a world that was superficial and exotic, watching with a blind naivety to the trials and horrors of her people. If she had simple listened, she was almost certain she would have heard them scream.

"I know it's a little silly," Annie's voice broke her from her thoughts and Brea felt dizzy when she landed back in reality. An infringing feeling of fear gripped her. She tried to shove it off…but it held.

"I don't think it's silly," Brea replied, not looking at Annie, rather staring straight ahead, trying to mask the sudden fear she was experiencing. She pulled her knees up to her chest and out from behind her overgrown bangs, her eyes pierced out and stared. "I can see why you wouldn't want to even risk it…"

In her peripheral vision, she saw Annie nod and there was a moment of silence. The anxiety compounded…

"I know what I went through is probably nothing compared to you guys," Brea said, still not looking at the other woman. Her own words brought out a deep guilt and she had to suppress the urge to admit her sins of naivety to the older woman. "But I wouldn't want to risk being sent back. I'd die…I couldn't go back. Ever…"

She turned and looked at Annie who was nodded in grim assent. Glancing down at Becky, barely noticing any shame in doing so, she said in a quiet, cryptic voice, "He'd kill me if I did…"

Brea turned away suddenly when she felt her insides drop as a memory flashed in her mind, red eyes glowing, making her skin run cold and she felt ill. The brace on her wrist was a reminder and for a fleeting moment she wished she could tear the damn thing off. She felt dirty.

"Who'd kill you?" Annie asked, puzzled and a little shocked by the girl's strange behavior.

Brea didn't answer her. A feeling of absolute dread suddenly passed over her like a wave. Panic, unknown and unexpected, grip her.

"I'm…I'm going to find Caleb," she announced abruptly and rose to her feet and left, walking straight into the collection of trees, leaving a very confused woman and her child to stare off at her in bemusement.

Brea rubbed at her arms in an attempt to rid herself of the encroaching chill that accompanied the panic attack that continued to linger...

* * *

What was _happening_ to her?

An overwhelming feeling of doom seemed to follow her like a morbid cloud, dousing her with poisoning thoughts of death. Despite being almost entirely impossible, Brea couldn't help but look around in alarm as if at any moment, Xeon or one of his cronies would jump out and squish her. She felt very small and very vulnerable. The walls, the security, the Mechs protecting the compound, etc…suddenly it all seemed very inadequate, that despite the fact that Xeon may very well believe her to be dead, she felt as though he could still reach her, still do her harm. And that terrified her beyond words. She could envision his blood red eyes and the pain in her ribs. She could hear her own screams.

The panic grew to a crescendo and she finally collapsed to the ground, huddling in a ball and pressed herself against the sturdy, reassuring, trunk of a near by tree, wishing she could melt into it and disappear. She stayed there, heart pounding in her ears and suppressing the urge to be sick.

Her face felt as if it were on fire as she held back tears, not wanting her sobs to attract any attention, yet she could not suppress the dieing wish for someone to come rescue her from the horrible thoughts and fears. But she did not want them to see her weakness. No. If she wanted to belong here, she needed to fit it…and to fit in, she couldn't show them how messed up she was…they would reject someone like her, someone who broke so easily at the slightest touch of pressure.

She did not have the right to break so easily when they…when they had to try so hard to keep together…they would see her as a burden; as weak and unworthy of such a safe haven. She was convinced.

Preston's voice, incredulous and insulted, rang out in her head. _Fruit? They fed you _fruit_?_

Those words dug into her, making her ashamed for ever thinking herself as a victim. She wasn't a victim…she was liable…guilty.

Ratchet was right, she supposed shamefully. Maybe she should have let him do what he thought best and let him go through his _procedures_. All that arguing, trying to convince them that she was fine, that she was ready and willing…only to find she was exactly as they had thought…broken, damaged…

…Mentally unstable.

For a long moment, she stayed there, easing herself from the adrenaline. The panic attack passed, but Brea did not move, feeling shaky and lethargic. She stayed there, propped up against the tree, looking out at the world around her. Her mind was so scattered, she didn't hear the soft pat of feet as they approached. She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw bright green eyes that stood over her. Strawberry hair, fuzzy and disheveled, puffed off her head, wayward strands loftily brushing her face.

"Kimberly?" Brea said in surprised, feeling oddly nervous. The girl nodded, a small smile coming to her face. Brea stared at her in wonder at her. Could this girl really be the same one she had seen so long ago? The first time they had locked eyes, she had been a youthful young girl, looking not but 16. However, the girl now in front of her had aged. She looked older, tired, and worn. Her smile was a ghost of what it should have been and there was some sort of underlining emotion that Brea couldn't quite place.

Remembering herself, Brea struggled to make small talk despite the fact Ratchet had informed her that Kimberly was a mute. She had to fill the silence somehow…it was deafening.

"So, uh…." Brea tried to smile, but had an innate impression it was a failed attempt. "Are you…OK? I mean, those other Mech said you might be sick and I…guess…I was wondering if you were OK. They said you don't come around a lot…and…I was…"

Kimberly simply looked her and Brea dropped the small talk. A nagging question lingered at the tip of her tongue and the red haired girl seemed to be waiting for something…

"Um…Kimberly? Can I…Can I ask you a question?" She asked, trying to be careful with her words, but only ended up sounding awkward and hesitant.

The girl nodded once.

"Oh…Ok. Um…well," She wasn't sure how to phrase it. "You…you were on the same ship as me weren't you?"

There was a faint twinkle in her eyes and she smiled the barest, almost unperceivable, smile. She nodded twice.

"And…you were…bought by Viral." Kimberly's eyes narrowed and a palpable jolt of hatred enemata from her. The confirmation hit Brea like a pillow; startling rather then jarring. She expected it.

"Did she…change your name?" She asked, feeling ashamed for asking such questions. "To _Aida_?"

Kimberly's eyes narrowed further to thin slits and she turned to look away, shaking her head as if to say 'Don't call me that'. A thick silence fell and Brea struggled with her next words. "I'm sorry," she said at last.

The girl's head snapped back, her eyes opening wide with a surprised look as if to say 'Why?' Brea felt a swell of tears. "I'm sorry for what they did to you…for everything! I'm sorry for what happened on the ship…with…that lady. Was…was she your Mom?" Brea had expected Kimberly to be angry at the mentioning of the woman, or at least sad, but instead, she merely nodded. Her absence of emotion should have consoled Brea, but it only seemed to compound her guilt. She shook her head, fully formed tears dripped down her face, "I'm _so_ sorry…"

Pressing herself back into her ball, Brea's shoulders heaved as she sobbed. She didn't understand why everything had gone so wrong. She had awoken that morning, feeling as if the world was right again, despite everything, but one little comment seemed to have ripped open the box previously owned by the notoriously curious Pandora. Everything seemed to be falling apart. She felt like she was unraveling…drowning in her own repentance.

Warm hands gripped her un-braced wrist and pulled. Brea looked up to see Kimberly tugging at her, inclining with her head over to her right.

"What?" She asked; her voice thick with tears.

Kimberly pulled harder and this time Brea got up, albeit somewhat awkwardly. She tugged her along and Brea decided to simply allow the silent girl to guide her to wherever it was she was taking her. They walked through the trees in no particular path and for a moment, Brea supposed Kimberly was simply guiding her to a more secluded spot rather then a pre-formed destination.

However, she was proven wrong when Kimberly pulled her out into another clearing far from the camp. Two brightly painted Mechs were lounging on the grass. Brea's mind was too scattered to recall their names. Ratchet had mentioned them, but her memory seemed foggy and uncooperative.

The yellow one was leaning against a particularly large and sturdy tree, a strange device in his hands. Two metal rectangles were connected to a pane of glass on which scrolled rows of text and images. The red Mech was laying on his back, hands behind his head, legs crossed, giving Brea the impression he might be sun bathing. The yellow one looked up; blue eyes watching as Kimberly all but dragged Brea into the clearing towards the two.

Brea felt his eyes on her and suddenly felt uneasy. She felt the childish fear of strangers bubble up to the surface and she tried to turn around or pull away, but Kimberly held firm; tugging and pulling, ushering her towards the two brightly painted Mechs. The red one absently glanced over, but upon seeing Brea, he sat up on his elbows, optics glowing in interest.

"Well, I guess this answers where you ran off to, huh, Kimi?" The red Mech smiled and then looked over at Brea. "Hey there."

"Uh…hello," Brea said ineptly.

"So you're the new one, huh?" Red said casually. Brea nodded meekly, still not sure why Kimberly had brought her there. She wanted to leave. "S'what's yer name?" He asked. The yellow one seemed to be ignoring them all except for brief glances, mainly towards Brea. She shivered under their light.

She swallowed thickly. "…Brea."

The red one's smile faded and he looked at her for a long moment, seeming to consider her. His head cocked to one side inquisitively before he reached out towards her. Brea went rigid and flinched as a black finger softly brushed her right clavicle, "You're shakin'. What's wrong?"

Brea opened her eyes reluctantly, looking up into the red Mech's face. He seemed utterly harmless, but Brea couldn't shake her nervousness. She looked away. Perhaps it was remnants of her anxiety attack; she didn't know. She just felt utterly overwhelmed…by everything. Everything was too big, too bright, too loud. Everything was moving too fast. She couldn't keep up. She felt like she was drowning...

She started when a black finger rose up to her chin and the Mech gingerly tipped her head back, forcing her to look at him. She was surprised to see his optics dim slightly, almost unnoticeably. She saw sympathy in his optics and something swelled inside her chest.

"You been cryin'?" He asked, lowering his hand from her.

Brea was taken aback by the question and opened her mouth to answer, to come up with a lie or excuse, but found her voice on hiatus. In her voice's absence, Kimberly was nodding and pulling at her arm, beckoning her towards the red one. She pulled back. Kimberly shot her an annoyed look and let go of her hand, striding confidently over to the red Mech. Brea watched in confusion as Kimberly clambered onto the Mech's leg. He looked down at the girl, looking amused, and laid back down on the grass as she crawled onto his chest. Brea gawked at the girl's audacity to just start climbing on the Mech but, like Bluestreak, he didn't seem to mind one bit. Rather he seemed content to let the small organic clamber over him. However, Brea did notice the yellow one make a slight motion as if rolling his eyes…despite the fact he did not have pupils and therefore could not roll his eyes.

…right?

Turning back to Brea, Kimberly waved at her, ushering her over, but Brea just shook her head and motioned to leave. She glanced meekly at the red Mech who was watching her curiously.

"Sorry...I-I should go…" she turned and had taken only two steps when a black hand swept in, blocking her path. She tried to backtrack but the black fingers reached out and daftly lifted her from the ground. She choked on a startled squeak as the fingers laced around her, holding her in the barest of grips.

"C'mon," The red Mech said with a chuckle as her lowered her onto the red metal of his chest, beside Kimberly, who seemed awfully pleased, "I don't bite."

Thoroughly unsure what to do, Brea looked at Kimberly to see her nestling down against the metal, her eyes closing as if going to sleep. Brea's face felt hot with a blush, feeling indignant and bewildered once again by her audacity, and made a motion to scoot off, but the red Mech blocked her, cupping her back with his hand. His thumb gently stroked her shoulder and she shuttered, remembering how Xeon used to do that. She tried to pull away, but the Mech's hand came down on her further, keeping her from moving.

"Just calm down," The red Mech instructed. She stared at him, unsure why she was even there. She should just leave. "You're okay," he insisted.

The hand cupping her back was a strangely reassuring presence and as it pushed on her, urging her to lay down, and she complied wordlessly. She laid her head gently on the shiny red metal, unable to shrug off her discomfiture. Beneath the metal her head rested on, Brea could hear the soft murmurings of the Mech's system. And then, unexpectedly, she heard a soft _Bom_ under the armor. She raised her head, startled and looked down at the metal. Confused, she laid her head back down and she heard a second _Bom. _Then another and another; like the rhythmic patterns of a heart beat. With each pulse of the 'heart' Brea felt a strange pulse of energy, like a wave of warm air. Each pulse brought a surge of energy that made her skin tingle. Her tense muscles began to relax and her tautly woven mind slowly unwound. The rhythm was soothing and she began to calm.

Looked over to see Kimberly gazing at her with a smile, green eyes sparkling, Brea felt the something in her chest swell again. The girl reached out to grab her hand, gently squeezing it. The swelling in her chest rose into her throat and into her eyes which brimmed with tears. Kimberly's smile widened and she nodded to some unspoken concern, some wordless pain. Without speaking, Brea felt an abiding gratitude towards the red haired girl.

She had left Annie and the camp, compelled by the fear of rejection or scorn for her break down, yet she could't shake the desperate wish someone, anyone, would come and rescue her from the weight of it all. And somehow, it seemed as though Kimberly had heard her…she had rescued her…from herself and her own poisoning thoughts.

* * *

_Author's note on panic attacks_- if you've never had one before, then good for you! After my family relocated to Alabama from California a few years ago I suddenly because a hypochondriac, big time. I had panic attacks and would think I was dieing or the sky was about to fall, all for no apparent reason or for a very silly reason. For weeks on end I would be absolutely convinced I was dieing. It was horrible. You really do feel like you have a cloud of doom around you. My Mom and I made up an emergency word so I could tell her I was panicking and she could help; Butterfly. That was the word I used when I had an attack. I tried to portray Brea's panic attack like the ones I use to have, only a little more severe. Ive never collapsed in fear but I probably came real close a few times. But I am glad to say I no longer suffer from hypochondria, or if I do it's very mild/rare now and not as bad as it was. I usually got them when I was under some form of stress; school, work, etc.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Notes: Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more. I would like to once again extend my sincerest thanks to you all who read, enjoy, and review this story! As I said in my previous notes of the last chapter, I am trying to rethink a lot of the next parts of the story so it does not end up all emo and fairly uninteresting. There's only so much moping one can take without probably provocation. Which there will be. I, myself, find that some stories fall victim to this, making a character over react to a relitivly tame situation and have everyone else feel the theatrical response is warrented. Now, given the sitation one could have a charcter react in a fairly...borning way. Like fall into an unpenetratable (sp?) despair. Even though it is a likely response...I find it lacking. So I'm trying to concive something that will keep your attention. But you won't know about it for a few more chapters. Muwaahahaha! Also! I drew a picture of Kimberly! It's on my Deviant art page: transformergirl (dot) deviantart (dot) com/art/Kimberly-94456973. Take out the (dot)'s first. lol.

* * *

Phase Nine: Regrets

Chapter Nineteen

* * *

She opened her eyes and saw Kimberly sound asleep next to her, a large black hand hovering over her, one finger tip tracing down the girl's back. Groggy from too much slumber, Brea raised her head, feeling an uncomfortable amount of pressure in her temples, and looked around. Strands of hair floated about her head from static electricity and she lifted a hand to her face and pulled a few strands from her mouth. Recollection fell into place and she looked down to see she was indeed still laying atop of the red Mech. The Mech in question looked up at her, blue optics glowing, a small smile on his face.

"How long was I sleeping?" she asked, too drunk on sleep to yet feel any shame about having just napped on someone. She pushed her uncooperative hair down with an irritated swipe.

"Not long," The Mech said quietly as if not to wake Kimberly. "Little over a quarter of a joor."

"So that's…" Her mind was too foggy to do math. "…uh…I dunno…"

"Hour and a half," supplied the Mech.

"Right," she said, paused, and then flopped back down on the metal with a groan which vibrated as the red Mech chuckled. The strange thing about sleep, Brea noticed; too much makes you groggy and sleepy and just makes want more sleep that makes you even groggier and sleepy. Ah feedback loops. She opened her eyes, listening to the rhythmic _Bom_ing of the Mech's chest, wondering what it was exactly.

"Feeling any better?" The red Mech asked, his voice still soft but seemed louder as it traveled through the vibrations of his armor.

"Mm…yeah," Brea nodded, feeling her face blush as realization finally hit. "Thank you…"

"Hey, whatever it takes, you know," He said casually. "Works on Kimi anyway…" A pause, "It's funny though…"

Brea raised her head and looked at the Mech's face, slightly obscured by the top curve of his chest armor. "What is?" she asked.

"That Kimberly trusted you so quickly," He replied frankly. "Took me almost two orns before she would stop glowering at me. Viral had her pretty wound up and locked down. Poor kid."

Brea looked over at the sleeping girl and slowly sat up straight and continued to look over her. She was shorter then Brea and much frailer. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically and in her sleep, she looked very peaceful. It was hard to believe something so awful could happen to a child like that, even if she was only a year or so younger then Brea.

Brea had always been praised for her level of maturity. But she had never felt as though she was doing anything out of order. She did what made sense to her, and if her actions seemed to appear mature for her age then she supposed that's how it was. It never seemed to be a conscious decision. She just did it. Brea remembered the hoo-ha her family had thrown when they found out their daughter would be graduating high school an entire year early. It wasn't anything spectacular, she wasn't a genius or anything. She just happened to be in the advanced placement program. There had been seventeen other juniors who had graduated along with her. But her parents ignored the technicality and revealed in their child's accomplishments. She'd started University the following summer after getting a scholarship to Gibbs College in Boston; a long way from home sweet home of Boulder, Colorado.

Had she known what would happen on the night of college finals, walking alone back to her dorm from work, she would have gone to a community school or taken an online course. Maybe she would still be with her family…

Brea looked down at Kimberly, wondering what had she been doing before being captured. What routine, what mundane thing had she been doing when her world shattered?

"Somehow…" She said finally, sounding somewhat distant, "I'm not…really surprised..."

There was a moment's pause during which the red Mech looked at her quizzically. "And what would you know about it?" a sharp voice asked. Brea snapped her head up to see the yellow Mech _glaring_ at her. She recoiled in surprised, but the red Mech lifted his hand to her and cupped her back as if afraid she might fall off.

"I...because," She said, grasping for words, his disconcerting scowl throwing her ability to articulate. "I…"

"You don't know anything about her," insisted the yellow one. "So don't pretend to."

She suddenly glared back in resentment. "I—!" A tugging at the hem of her dress cut her off and she looked down to see Kimberly shaking her head, looking almost as if she were pleading with her. "Huh?"

Kimberly just shook her head and sat up, still holding onto Brea's dress. Unsure what to do or what the girl was trying to get at, Brea simply nodded, agreeing to whatever it was, regardless, "Okay..."

Kimberly then turned around and hopped off the red Mech's chest, much to his alarm, and onto the grass, causing him to flinch. She walked up to the yellow Mech who watched her with suspicious optics. "What do you want squirt?" He asked as she paused at his feet, looking up at him expectantly. She marched over to his right foot as if to climb on but he shifted away. "Oh, no you don't. Go scramble around on Sideswipe. I'm not letting you get hand prints all over me again."

Brea watched, half amused and half nervous, as Kimberly tried to climb on his other foot. Under her, the red Mech, Sideswipe, laughed. "Ah, come on Sunny, she just wants to play."

The red haired girl had managed to clamp herself onto the yellow Mech's shin and he scowled down at her. One large black hand swept in and plucked her from her perch and deposited her back onto Sideswipe's frame, right next to Brea. "Well now she has another female human all her own to play with. So keep me out of it."

Looking over, Brea saw Kimberly smiling brilliantly. She failed to suppress her own smile, but when she caught sight of the yellow Mech scowling at her, she blanched and quickly wiped it away.

"Don't mind Sunstreaker," The red Mech, Sideswipe, told her. "He's just grumpy 'cause we're…y'know. Broke."

The other Mech's systems revved.

"Well if you'd have listened to me when I said we should've pulled out, we wouldn't be," Sunstreaker retorted, pulling out his strange metal and glass reader thing as Sideswipe made a face at him. The text and images scrolled by until the yellow Mech seemed to settle on a part that displayed more graphs then text. The malleable metal of his face contorted into a foreboding frown. "Pathos Delta's revenues dropped last session."

Sideswipe perked up, clearly surprised. "By how much?"

Sunstreaker didn't glance at his brother as he scrolled down through the texts of the reader, "20 units."

"Frag!" Sideswipe's frame trembled as he cursed. In a troubled tone he asked, "What about Kaxon?"

"Up .089 units," Was the straight reply.

The red Mech sighed. "Oh well that's good."

"But they dropped 5 two sessions ago, remember."

"Double frag." Sideswipe growled.

Sunstreaker's seemingly permanent frown faltered into a look of utter surprise. "Get this: Kaon Trading dropped 110 units."

Brea perked up to listen. Cupping his hands beneath the two girls on his chest, Sideswipe sat up and gently put them on the grass before turning to Sunstreaker. He asked, intently, "Really? Let me see."

Sunstreaker obligingly handed over the viewer and Sideswipe spent several long moments gazing out at the feed. He raised an optic ridge. "Well I'll be Prime…it did. Wow, that's one _nasty_ drop."

"Must've been that news report," Sunstreaker commented absently. "Bad press equals bad business."

"Well I'm glad our keen morals kept our credits out of that," Sideswipe remarked in relief. He looked down at Kimberly and smiled, "See Kimi? You saved us from financial ruin!"

"You mean _worse_ financial ruin," quipped the other. "We're still broker then a maintenance droid."

Sideswipe wilted and sighed, resigned. "You think Jazz has any inside info?" he asked, vaguely hopeful.

Sunstreaker snorted, a harsh noise that emanated from somewhere in his chest. "Oh I'm sure, but he'd probably demand our _Sparks_ in exchange for it."

Sideswipe sighed, clearly discouraged. "Maybe we should take up a trade or something…"

"And do _what_? Prime needs us here, remember? The whole point of getting into stocks was so we didn't _have_ to work," Sunstreaker snapped. "Unless we get more help this whole place might not last much longer. Prime can't keep this place a secret and expect to get the capital he needs to run it; unless we go convince the High Tower Elite to start a charity fund or something."

Sideswipe looked hopeful again. "You think that would work?"

"No." Sunstreaker replied grimly.

"What if we asked Mirage to pull some strings? He knows some of those gilded-afts glitches."

"Probably not gonna happen. Half of Kaon still wants his head on a spike, remember?"

Brea felt a small jump of alarm at that, and broke into the conversation, "Why would they want Mirage dead?"

The two Mechs looked down at her, seeming to consider answering her. Finally, Sideswipe shrugged, "It's…complicated."

"He double crossed them during the war. Pretty much what it was." Sunstreaker added nonchalantly. "And that doesn't take too well among the Kaon elite; which is a bit ironic considering they were all Decepticons. It's practically a prerequisite. They just like to think that they're Primus's gift to the Universe; an exclusive club you live and die in. They could trip and fall into the smelting pits and I wouldn't give a frag. More credits for the rest of us."

"When you say _Kaon elite_," Brea asked, "You mean…people like Xeon and Viral, right?"

The two Mech stared at her, incredulity and suspicion in their optics.

"You know about Viral?" Sideswipe asked. "How?"

Brea felt as though she had been caught in a lie of sorts, despite having made no such deception, and found herself shrinking away from them. "I…well. I use to…live across from her place. In the Emirate's tower."

"Xeon?" Sideswipe asked, optics wide, sounding astonished. "_Xeon_ was your master?"

Brea nodded vigorously as if she might be punished if she didn't supply her answer right away. "Yes."

"Wow…I'm sorry," Sideswipe said, surprising her, and leaned forward so he was more at her level, "Really _sorry_. I've only met him a few times. That guy's a real crank shaft."

Brea's apprehension popped like a proverbial bubble and she smiled. "Yeah," she agreed with a laugh, "He is."

Sideswipe suddenly brightened as a thought struck him. "Oh! Hey, hey! Did you ever see Sunny try to chuck that one Mech off Viral's balcony that one time?"

Brea paused to think about it for a moment then she gawked as the memory resurfaced, turning to Sunstreaker. "That was _you_?" She did remember vaguely seeing a fight and some unknown Mech attempt to throw someone off the balcony. Sunstreaker looked down at her smugly and smirked, "He deserved it." A pause. "He was messing with Kimberly."

Kimberly suddenly scrambled to her feet and ran up to Sideswipe, pressing herself against his leg with wide eyes and pointed to the edge of the clearing. Brea turned around and saw a figure standing behind a tree, looking towards them as if afraid to show anymore of himself. She smiled when she realized who it was; Caleb.

She was about to call out to him when she heard both Mech's systems rev threateningly, almost like a growl. The sudden aggressive noise made her jump and she looked over at them, startled and confused. Kimberly was glaring in Caleb's direction too, her chest heaving as if she had just sprinted a great distance.

"You got some nerve coming over here, _boy_," Sunstreaker snarled, rising to his feet and taking a few stalking strides towards him. Brea could see the boy flinch, clinging to the tree trunk as if it was the only thing keeping him rooted there. She stared at the Mechs, stunned and a little more then alarmed. Why were they being so hostile towards him?

"I-I just came to find Brea…that's all!" He called out, voice shaking. He was terrified. "A-also…O-Optimus is here…and wants everyone to meet him at camp."

"Fine, thanks for the info, now get lost!" Sideswipe snapped fiercely and Brea saw the young man sprint back into the trees. Brea jumped to her feet to run after him, heart pounding.

"Caleb wait!" She was jerked back when Kimberly reached out and grabbed her arm. Looking back at the girl, Brea couldn't help but feel an angry swell of resentment at the way they had just treated the boy. Her eyes narrowed at the girl reproachfully, "_What_?"

Kimberly shook her head and pulled on her arm as if to say, 'Stay here'.

Brea scowled. "How could you be so _mean_ to him? What did he ever do to you?"

Kimberly seemed to recoil at Brea's words, eyes wide and confused. And hurt.

"He attacked Kimberly," Sideswipe said irritably as Sunstreaker walked beside him to reclaim his seat against the tree. "That boy's a low life. He doesn't belong here."

Brea stared at the Mech and then felt red hot indignation rise up and she yanked her hand out of Kimberly's hand. Staring at each of them in turn, trying to broadcast her offense over the claim, she hissed, "I don't believe you."

Not waiting for a response, Brea ran into the trees after Caleb.

* * *

As she neared camp, Brea could hear several voices. She paused behind a tree and peered out from behind it and into the clearing to see the odd looking congregation. All the humans were there standing together, except Preston who was sitting with his back to a near by tree, and across from them was an assembly of Mechs who all had either crouched down or were sitting. She saw Ratchet and Fixit over by Preston, seeming to be conducting some sort of check up, and also she noticed Prowl, who was the only one not sitting or crouching. He stood farther back, observing everything from a distance. Three others however, she did not recognize. The one farthest from her was red and black with a strange tube looking protrusion on his right shoulder. He also seemed to be the shortest of the Mechs. Beside him was a white and grey colored Mech with green and red accents, a mask covering the lower portion of his face. Brea watched curiously as the sides of his head lit up with his words.

She turned to look at the last Mech and the first thing that struck her was his sheer height and presence. Easily the tallest Mech she had seen, his red and blue armor was pristine and he was down on one knee, talking with Craig. Tilting her head slightly so she could see his face, she noted he also had a face mask just like the white and grey one. Studying the scene before her, it felt crowded and apprehensions of exposing herself crept into her mind. However, before she could make her escape, the little girl Zoë caught sight of her.

"Brea!" The little girl bounded across the clearing, weaving in between Mech's legs, and came up to where Brea had been hiding. She suppressed the swell of annoyance and just smiled at the little girl. Zoë took her hand and guided her out from under the trees. "Everyone was wonder where you went."

Stepping into the camp, Brea could feel their gazes turn to her, making her feel uncomfortable and anxious. She looked around for Caleb and saw he had walked over to Preston and was sitting with him, looking perturbed.

"_Found her_!" Zoë sang as she released Brea hand and then walked over to stand next to Craig, who took the smaller girl's hand. Zoë looked up at the red and blue Mech and smiled proudly, "I found her!"

The large Mech's blue optics pulsed and he spoke to the little girl, a smile in his voice, "Thank you very much Zoë."

"You're welcome," She replied, clearly pleased with herself.

The Mech turned his attention to Brea, who stiffened under his gaze despite knowing he meant her no harm. But _damn_ he was big! The situation reminded her of a trip her family once took to the Sequoia National park once and during the drive up into the California mountains, Brea had been seven at the time and was overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of the rocks that jutted out from the mountain sides. Pictures and video clips were nothing when one found themselves gazing up at a boulder (if it could be labeled as such) easily twice the mass of a skyscraper. Or when they had driven to one of the caves and found themselves banked by sheer cliffs 150 feet high. The impression that both sides of the mountain would suddenly topple over and crush everything beneath was ever present until they left.

She felt guilty for feeling so afraid when the Mech in front of her was, in all probability, the real reason she was still alive. He studied her for a moment, seeming to note her nervousness, before speaking. His tone was very courteous and gentle, "I am very pleased to finally have the chance to meet you, Brea. I apologize for not making myself available to speak with you sooner. I am Optimus Prime."

Brea was very aware she was likely as red as a beet, but nodded anyway, trying to keep her composure. "I-it's okay…I mean—I understand you were probably busy and all that…but…yeah."

His optics pulsed again and Brea was struck with the inane impression that he was smiling. "I would also like speak with you privately once we are through here if that suits you."

Brea nodded automatically, no daring to refuse. "Of course."

He nodded. "If you would permit me, I would like to introduce our new volunteers," Optimus Prime gestured to the two other Mechs Brea didn't know. He seemed to be speaking more to her then the group and she assumed the pleasantries had already been exchanged prior to her arrival, "Perceptor and Wheeljack."

The Mech with the lights on his head nodded and gave a small, "Hello," as did the red and black one with his own polite, "Greetings." Brea gazed at the two, waving in salutations and trying to remember which one was supposed to be the Mech who caused random explosions.

"And I assume you know Prowl," Optimus finished, gesturing off to the stoic figure off to the side.

"Yeah," Brea replied, hoping her response didn't sound as condescending as it did to her. "We've, uh…met. Briefly."

Optimus Prime nodded in understanding.

"How's your wrist, Brea?" Ratchet asked from across the clearing and she looked over, blinking, before looking down at her wrist. She recalled her earlier 'episode' and how much she had wanted to take the brace off, finding that she still wanted it to be removed. Perhaps the Medic would oblige.

"Fine," Brea admitted cheerfully, lifting her hand that was encased with the metal brace. "Haven't felt any pain."

"We'll keep it on a little while loner just in case," Ratchet replied, turning his attention back to Preston. Brea's face must have revealed her disappointment, for she heard several Mechs around her chuckle. Her face heated in a blush.

It took all of Brea's composure not to jump away and scream bloody murder when Perceptor suddenly crouched down beside her. She hadn't noticed him move at all, but apparently he noticed her alarm. "My sincerest apologies for startling you," he said, "I was merely curious as to the derivation of the peculiar markings upon your neck."

Brea stared for a moment, arms still clutched to her chest after the Mech had startled her, and she blinked. "You…mean my scars?"

"Scars?" Perceptor peered at her curiously, frowning slightly, "Forgive me, I was not aware they from the result of injury. They appear dissimilar from the examples of organic tissue damage I have come across in your species. I presuppose them to be some sort of tribal markings."

"That's because they're burns," Annie supplied, walking closer. "They look different from scars we might get from scraps or cuts. And most humans don't have tribal markings save for a few indigenous cultures. We're all of Eurpean descent; Anglo-Saxon, Scandinavian, etc."

"What's Aglo Saxon?" Izzy asked.

"_Anglo_ Saxon," Annie clarified, "It mean's we're all white Caucasian. Unless someone here's albino Cambodian."

Sean and Rodney both snickered. Izzy still looked confused, so Rodney clarified, "It means we're all Vikings."

The little boy immediately brightened up at the prospect. Annie looked offended, "That's not exactly true…"

Perceptor nodded thoughtfully before turning his attention back to Brea. "Did these occur prior to your captivity?" He asked. Brea shook her head and he frowned turned mournful. "Am I correct, then, in assuming these originated from the actions, negligent or otherwise, of Cybertronians?"

"Yes," She answered. "It was technically an accident, but…they didn't seem too sorry for it. Except when they thought they would loose money because of it."

"Hm," the Mech seemed to be considering something. Turning his head to glance across the clearing, he asked, "Have you documented these as of yet, Ratchet?"

"No," The medic admitted, "I wanted Brea settled before going into anything like that. Allow her time to adjust."

Perceptor nodded in assent, "Likely a wise decision. What of the others?"

"We have the basic cases for everyone except Brea and Kimberly," Prowl stated. "Due to her inability to verbally communicate, we haven't gotten a chance to adequately document her apart from what we gathered ourselves or what Sideswipe and Sunstreaker have provided. It won't hold much weight in court."

"I'm confused," Wheeljack admitted, "What do you mean she can't verbally communicate? Is she _damaged_?"

"You could say that. She's mute," Annie explained sadly. "I believe Kimberly is suffering through what we call selective mutism."

Optimus gazed at the woman curiously, "Would you please elaborate? I am not familiar with all human terminology."

Annie nodded. "Of course. Selective mutism is a disorder commonly associated with various forms of trauma. The individual experiences inability to speak during certain situations or in times of strong emotions or in the presence of a certain person. But with Kimberly, instead of not being able to speak during those instances, she can't speak at all. I don't know it it's a conscious decision on her part or she is truly experiencing this disorder. It's a common affliction to those who have experienced trauma, especially in children and young adults. For one as young as Kimberly, already going the trials of being a teenager, it wouldn't take much in theory to induce selective mutism."

"What such trials are you referring to?" Perceptor asked, sounding intrigued. "What is a _teenager_?"

"I'm a teenager," Brea offered, her mouth shooting off with no real thought process behind them. She shrunk away slightly when the comment earned her the attention of all present Mechs and humans.

"But what is it?" Wheeljack asked.

"Teenagers are humans going through the process of becoming adults, biologically anyway. We call it Puberty. They tend to be very…" Annie struggled for an appropriate word.

"Unstable?" Craig offered offhandedly.

"Yeah, pretty much," Annie conceded. "They tend to be very emotional and prone to aggression. And it's worse for the females of our species because our bodies go through more drastic changes then males and we're more easily influenced by hormones and prone to mood swings…" ("Amen!" Rodney and Sean cheered) "…so add trauma, which releases certain chemicals into our bodies as a response, to that list and you have a hormone cocktail from hell."

"How do you _know _all that?" Sean asked from where he was standing with Rodney.

"From my psychology class in college," Annie replied as if it were nothing.

"And that was…_how_ long ago?" Rodney asked incredulously, earning himself a very severe glare from the woman.

"Brea," Ratchet said and she turned obediently towards the Mech.

"Yeah?" She asked, perking up slightly as if it would help to hear him. He looked at her seriously and she vaguely wondered if she was in trouble. "Didn't you tell me both Kimberly and you were brought to Cybertron aboard the same transport vessel?"

Brea suddenly found herself the focus of the room again, everyone peering at her curiously. "I…did." She said, the effect of their stares giving her a small form of stage fright.

"Did anything happen during that time that might account for her mutism?" The Medic asked.

"The answer to that question is irrelevant," Prowl interjected before Brea could answer, "Sideswipe reported that Kimberly spoke before being taken from Viral's estate. It was only when she was brought here did she develop this condition."

"Selective mutism is a black and white concept, Prowl," Annie said with a little bite, annoyed at the sweeping generalization, "People develop all sorts of different conditions, even if they're all suffering from the same affliction. People with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD, can develop a number of symptoms but they're in no way a set order. One person could go into a depression while another could develop night terrors and another could be perfectly fine. Or commit suicide. It depends upon each person and their ability to cope with their situation. They can happen really at any time; even years after the initial trauma. So it _would_ be relevant if you consider that her mutism might've been brought on by compounded trauma. In all likelihood she just couldn't take the pressure and just snapped. It could also account for her paranoia."

"Paranoia?" Wheeljack asked, astonished. "I would never have guessed humans were so susceptible to psychological damage."

"Ah such is the bane of humanity," Rodney swooned. "We're nice and sane in our own little world, but pop our happy bubble and we all go crazy."

"Kimberly's not crazy," Annie insisted. "She's just a very sick little girl who needs a lot of help."

"_Help_? She won't let any of us near her," Sean protested. "How are we supposed to help her? Whenever she comes to get food all us guys have to go stand to the side until she goes or she starts going _crazy_." He turned to Wheeljack and Perceptor, "You wanna see a human freak out? You should've seen the way she cracked on Caleb when she first got here! Talk about over reacting! You should've seen the _scratch_ she gave him! Hey Ceb, you have any scars from that?"

The mentioned boy seemed startled and a little offended he'd been brought into the conversation, even more on by the topic, but he shook his head, "Nah. It healed."

"She's just scared of us," Craig spoke in a tone that indicated he wished to move on from that subject.

"But why?" Izzy asked. "We aren't going to hurt her or nothing."

"She's not scared of me," Zoë added cheerfully.

"That's 'cause you're a girl," Izzy replied, his nose wrinkled in distaste. Brea watched as the conversation hopped from person to person as they all gave their opinions.

"Brea?" Optimus Prime asked, causing her to jump and look up at him. "Do you have any thoughts about this?"

She was silent for a moment, attempting to line up her thoughts in any comprehensible order. Staring at her feet as if she could mentally line them up on the ground, Brea struggled to make sense of her words. As she ran them around in her head, they seemed to loose all meaning. They sounded hallow and unbelievable, insincere. She could still recall vividly seeing Swindle pluck the dead woman's body from the cage without dignity and drop her into a plastic bag like some diseased dead thing. She could remember Kimberly's screams as she was snatched up from the floor as she attempted a dash for freedom. She could still feel the terror…Somehow, trying to put all that into audible words seemed very inadequate. Offensive even.

"Something…did happen," Brea confirmed; voice low and feeling as if it wasn't her place to speak the words. She thought back to only a few moments ago when Kimberly had stopped her from telling Sunstreaker that she knew what had happened to Kimberly. Somehow it seemed like she was double crossing the girl by revealing something she didn't seem at all eager to reveal. Did anyone know about it?

Speculation gave way to silence and everyone turned to her, eager to hear what she had to say. It only seemed to make her more hesitant to speak. "On the ship, I mean. Something…" She stopped herself, ready to refuse anymore information. Warm metal press softly against her back and she looked up into cool blue optics.

"Yes?" Optimus prompted gently, seeming to sense her hesitance. She stared for a moment, debating her decision, and then finally conceded.

"Well…on the ship, she wasn't alone. I mean, there was someone with her, but…" Brea hesitated, swallowing thickly. "Her mom I think. She didn't make it. That is…she died on the ship."

A very stunned silence fell on the clearing. She took the quiet as a cue and continued. "When a Mech came to take the body—er, her away, she tried to escape…Kimberly tried to escape," she let that sink in. "They caught her and they told us if anyone tried to escape they'd kill us. I thought he was going to kill her, I think we all did, but he just put her back into the cage and left."

Brea continued to stare at the ground and it was only when she heard a shaky intake f breath did she look over to Annie staring off into space, one hand gingerly placed over her mouth, looking as if she were about to cry.

"That's probably it," Craig conceded sadly in a low voice. "Loosing a parent is hard enough, but at such a young age…and during such a stressful time? It'd be hard for anyone to deal with, let alone a teenaged girl."

There was a strangely heavy silence.

"What do you mean you say her _Mom_?" Perceptor asked carefully, as if afraid his queries would be considered inappropriate given the sudden divulgence. "I am unfamiliar with this word."

"Mom, short for Mother; a maternal procreator," Prowl explained mechanically. "Humans spend their early lives dependent upon their procreators until they are ready to become autonomous. From my understanding, humans have extraordinarily strong bonds with their procreators."

"Hm," Perceptor nodded. "I see. When is it considered appropriate for humans to become independent of their creators?"

"Well, there's two ways you could answer that," Annie answered, her voice seemed to be filled with sympathy. "Generally, we consider 18 years to be the age you leave home, but that's mostly for Western Society. Other parts of the world do things differently. But in our case, most don't leave until they have finished their higher education and have a reliable job. Unless the child runs away of leaves home on their own, but that's different. Most parents help their kids settle into an independent life, easing them into it. At least in our society."

"And how old is Kimberly?" Wheeljack asked softly.

"I'd wager she's about 15. Maybe 16." Craig said with a shake of his head. "I have a 14 year old niece and Kimberly looks a little older then her so I'd say 15 or 16. Too young. Far too young to be alone."

"So she is incapable of caring for herself by your species standards," Wheeljack concluded.

"You could say that," Craig said with a shrug and glanced around at the gathered humans. "Then again, I think we're all kind of in that category one way or another."


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Notes:** Joy to the world, a new update! lol. Normalcy is _so_ overrated. Being weird is so much more fun. lol. Thank you all for your reviews and critiques! I've spen a lot of time rethinking this stage of the story. Had I not changed it you would have all been subjected to several more chapter of Brea's self pity and tears and overthinking. Fun once in a while but very boring after a while. So there will only be a few more chaps of that. Even though the other way would have involved substantial amounts of Mech hugs. I know. I'm such a fangirl. So I will have to figure out others ways to incorperate the Mechs hugs. It won't be too hard.

Also, if anyone's been reading this and has been somewhat disapointed in how it's going (aka the Emo-ness) then I apologize and hope you will stick around. It will get back on track, I promise. Also, the amount of Mechs in the story will soon jump...like sky rocket. So if you feel Mech deprived, do not fear! They're coming. They're just stuck in traffic. Damn toll booths. And everyone knows Mirage doesn't carry change with him.

Phase Ten: Interview

Chapter Twenty

* * *

Brea quietly sat down next to Caleb, pulling her knees up to her chest and peering at the young man worriedly as Fixit and Ratchet continued their check up on Preston. Their poking and prodding seemed to agitate the man and several times he snapped at them. The two Mech would retort with a remark and continue their poking. Prowl and Optimus were speaking to Craig and Caleb's brothers while Annie and the two younger humans, Zoë and Izzy, were showing Wheeljack and Perceptor baby Becky who had awoken, quiet noisily, from a nap. Brea found it endearing to see both Mech with their very large and intimidating bulk fawning over the absolutely tiny baby human. Much to Becky's credit, she seemed just as curious of them. Whenever Wheeljack spoke and the lights adorning the sides of his helm lit up, she would giggle and clap. And so began the game of 'Let's Make the Baby Laugh'.

As all the chattering commenced, Brea found herself drawn to the dejected young man. She glanced at Caleb and felt her heart sink. He looked so very…remorseful. It took all her resolve to not simply reach out and touch him or to wrap her arms around his neck and try to comfort him. The desire was both advantageous and discerning. She kept her hands still.

"Is…everything okay, Caleb?" Brea asked cautiously, testing the water. "You look a bit distracted."

He didn't look at her and merely stared off into space. After a moment, he said, "I wish she'd stop looking at me like that."

Brea titled her head in confusion. "Who?"

"Kimberly." A wave of something passed through her, but she didn't know what. There was a flash of something there…but she didn't understand it. Brea looked at her feet instead. Indeed it felt strange to have seen how utterly…terrified Kimberly seemed to have been of Caleb.

"Why is she afraid of you?" She asked.

He scowled. "She's afraid of everyone," He replied before narrowing his eyes and turning away, "Just me especially."

"Even Zoë and Annie?"

"She's…not afraid of Zoë really, but she gets nervous around Annie," Caleb said. "As long as I've known her, the only people she seems to trust are Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. She only stays around us if she needs food. We've tried to cozy up to 'er but she runs off if we get too close."

The silence that fell between them was not quiet, rather it was sprinkled with the myriad of voices of those in the immediate area. It all seemed to contrast to how Caleb appeared; the sound of a giggling baby, quietly insightful conversations, and the irritated bickering of two doctors and their intolerant patient.

Brea bit her lip before speaking. "Sideswipe said…you attacked her once." Tthe moment the words left her mouth she regreted ever saying them. Caleb whirled on her and Brea recoiled in surprise, bumping into Preston and drawing his and the two medics' attentions.

"I didn't _attack_ her!" He shouted, and the clearing grew silent as everyone glanced their way. Caleb didn't seem to notice or care. "It wasn't my fault they screwed her up! I didn't touch her! Even when they told me to! What was I supposed to do? I didn't want her; they just shoved her in with me and told me to….to…"

His flushed when he realized his outburst had attracted so much attention. His face scrunched together in a painfully ashamed expression that sent a jolt of something through Brea and he suddenly shot up to his feet, stalking off and practically broadcasting his enmity.

"Oi! Ceb!" Sean called worriedly, beginning to chase after his younger sibling. "What's the shoutin' fer? You alright?"

"Leave me th' _fuck_ alone!" The boy yelled with surprising ferocity and disappeared beyond the trees. Brea was frozen to the spot staring off after the young man, in shock of what had just happened.

"Well…" Preston said next to her. "That was…exciting."

Wordlessly, Brea rose to her feet and started of after him, but was jerked to a halt when she felt metal wrap around her arm. Turning around, she saw Fixit shaking his head at her.

"Give him some space," He advised.

"But—!" Brea was cut off by a stern look from the Micromaster.

"No Brea," He said, "Caleb…has a lot of things to work out on his own. He'll come back when he's ready. He always does."

She turned around to stare off in the direction the boy had gone, hoping to catch a glimpse of him stalking through the trees, but there was no flicker of movement. She sighed and looked down at the ground, feeling ashamed for having brought up such a topic.

"I didn't mean to make him mad," Brea admitted guiltily. "I just didn't understand why Kimberly thought he attacked her. I thought Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were gonna _shoot_ him the way they treated him…"

"I'll talk to them about it later," Ratchet told her. Maybe he was trying to cheer her up, but it came off more as a means to bypass the subject.

"Brea." Turning around at the sound of her name, she locked eyes with Optimus Prime who stood next to Prowl at the edge of the clearing side by side.

"Yes sir?" Brea asked, somewhat nervously.

"Would you please come with us?" He asked, "We would like to begin documenting your case and take your testimony."

Brea felt Fixit release her arm and give her an encouraging little nudge forward. She took a few hesitant steps, stealing one last glimpse towards the trees and felt disapointed when she did not see anything. She nodded in resignation. "O-okay."

* * *

"Ratchet has informed me you are quite fluent in Cybertronian," The baritone voice broke Brea from her thoughts and she glanced up into the masked face of Optimus Prime. He held her cupped in one hand, held close to his person while the dichromatic form of Prowl walked along side, his cool blue optics never seeming to wane from the hall way ahead of them. Brea hadn't been paying much attention to where they were going, and she vaguely hoped that neither chaparone had noticed; her thoughts had been trained on the paradox of Kimberly and Caleb. She felt a little put off that she had to leave to be questioned when all she wanted was to figure out what was wrong. Caleb's face, wrought with pain, was clear in her mind and it killed her to think of it. She wanted to comfort him, tell him it was OK, and somehow work him through whatever it was that made him so sad. She wanted to convince Kimberly and the twins that they were mistaken; Caleb wouldn't attack anyone. He wouldn't…

_But how do you know?_ Something in her mind asked. _Who are you to assume anything of these people? You don't know them, they don't know you. You're a stranger, an outsider, someone who has yet to find her spot within all of this…_

She blinked for a moment before remembering herself. "Oh-! Yeah...I…kinda."

The large Mech's frame vibrated faintly as he chuckled. "_I find it curious a Mech such as Xeon would ever consider such a thing." _

"_Y'know Fixit said the same thing_," She replied. Both Mechs' optics glowed in interest when she responded and Brea felt a small leap of pride.

"_The Emirate of Kaon has never been known to be kind to, please forgive my terminology, inferiors_."

Brea rolled the word around in her mind. She'd heard it before, but its meaning was illusive to her. She felt embarrassed for having to admit her ignorance just after the small bout of pride, so meekly she said, "_I, uh… do not know that word means…I've heard it before, but no one's ever told me what it meant."_

The Mech was silent for a moment, seeming to choose and weigh his words carefully. "_When someone is referred to as an _inferior_, it means primal, lesser, or ignorant. It has come to be known as a derogatory term in recent times; it is much like the word _Barbaric_ in your language. But there is another word with the same denotation, but with different connotation. If someone calls you an _inferior_, they usually mean to insult you by claiming to be a higher being, more advanced. But if someone calls you a _primitive_, it is a more politically correct term to refer to someone of a lower rank or position or a being of a lower evolutionary scale. Understand?"_

She nodded and sighed. "_My vocabulary isn't very good, is it? There's a lot of words I still don't know_."

"_You will learn in time_," Optimus told her genially. "_I must admit it is quiet amusing to hear you use such advanced vocabulary with such simple grammatical structure._"

"…_I've been using big words_?" Brea asked thoroughly unaware of that fact.

"_Yes. When a Cybertronian is newly sparked, they utilize simple vocabulary subroutines with plain grammar until their processor is strong enough to accommodate higher communicational programs_."

"_Everything considered_," Prowl added, "_It's a large accomplishment for one of your kind to be able to speak Cybertronian at all. The pronunciations itself is quite a feat._"

Brea blinked. _Did he just…give me a compliment? _

"…_thank you?_" She wagered.

It was less then a minute later that Prowl paused at a door and typed something into the key pad, just as Jazz had done when he brought her down to the Sanctuary, but he did not have to stick his finger into any jack port. The door slid aside effortlessly and Prowl allowed Optimus and Brea to enter first before following suit. The room was pitch black for a second before the lights kicked on, flickering momentarily before maintaining their brilliance.

The room was very unassuming. It was mostly bare save for a table and two chairs and a large computer council set into the far wall. As Optimus neared the table, he slowly lowered his hand and Brea quickly scooted off the blue palm, quickly righting her dress when it hiked up a bit too far for the comfort of her modesty. Prowl headed over towards the computer and began typing something into it. From the table, Brea could hear mechanical noises and humming as the computer powered up. The luminous screen hummed to life and rolls of Cybertronian text began to scroll across the screen, none of it making any sense to her. She heard a buzzing noise and looked up to see a small compartment in the ceiling open and a strange contraption descend from above.

Brea tensed and took a fearful step back, eyes never wavering from the strange thing. She felt something gingerly touch her back and she looked up to see Optimus gazing down at her.

"It's only a camera Brea," He assured her. She nodded and looked back to the machine, noticing the large lenses directed at her. It looked like a giant mechanical eye ball. Creepy.

"W-why…?" She asked.

"We record every interview we do for further study and for our records," Prowl said, "We might be able to use it as evidence as well if we are able to obtain facts and further evidence that concrete the claims and stories."

"Oh…okay."

"We're simply going to ask you some questions," Optimus told her in a manner that seemed to be meant to reassure her, "But if you don't feel comfortable answering any of them we won't press you."

"But it will help us greatly if you try to answer them all as truthfully as you can," Prowl added.

"I'll try," Brea replied. Optimus nodded, clearly pleased and glanced up at his fellow.

"Tell me when we are ready to begin," Optimus said as he rounded the table and took a chair. Prowl nodded, typing several more keys and stepping away.

"Video feed is recording," Prowl said. The black and white Mech took the second chair and sat. It was then that she realized both Mechs would be out of the camera's view and she fidgeted under the attention of their stares. "Case number Delta-4, subject 128-42. File no. 8. Recording."

"Would you please state your designation for the record," Optimus said, his voice loosing all warmth and becoming no-nonsense and businesslike.

She took a fueling breath, feeling it shiver with anxiety as it filled her lungs. "My name is Brea Taylor Morgan," she said, speaking her full name and trying to sound as businesslike as Optimus, hoping somehow it would help.

"And what is your age?"

"I am 17 years old."

"Could you please state your species and native planet?"

"I'm a human and I'm from the planet Earth."

"Can you recapitulate the events that lead to you being here on Cybertron?"

Brea was silent for a few moments as she went through that night in her mind. "I was abducted," she said bluntly, "I was walking home from my place of employment and it was late at night—"

"Night, or nighttime, is the period of time when your system's star is below the horizon, am I correct?" Optimus suddenly cut her off, adding in the foot note. It caught her off guard and she hurried to continue on.

"Uh, yes, that's right. Most humans sleep at night so there wasn't many people around."

"Were you alone?"

"Yes. I saw what I thought at the time was a car—"

"A car is a human transportation vehicle, am I correct?" Optimus interjected.

"Huh? Oh, y-yeah... I didn't think anything strange about it, until it started following me. I was alone in a city at night, so I thought it was some guy trying to jump me or something. When I tried to run, something hit me in the shoulder." Brea raised her hand to her shoulder and rubbed the place where she'd been struck. "It was like a tranquilizer dart or something, I started feeling woozy. I remember turning around and I didn't see his face, but I know it was a Cybertronian. There isn't anything on Earth that I could have mistaken him for. I woke up in a cage aboard a transport ship heading to Cybertron with several other humans."

"How many would you say?"

"Fifty?" She replied. "Give or take a few."

"And what was the nature of your captivity?"

Brea paused, running the question in her mind in an attempt to decipher it.

"I don't understand the question," she admitted sheepishly.

"What purpose did you serve under the care of your owner?" Optimus revised.

"I was a…" She hesitated, deploring the word_ pet_, "…a domestic companion. But he had an ulterior motive for keeping me."

"Elaborate."

"The way it was explained to me was that...apparently, human hearing can pick up on things that a Mech can't. Like the sound waves of a mirror coating generator and stuff. It's very soft but when I'm near one, it's like a faint ringing. That's why he bought me. At least, that's what he told me."

"Why would your owner want you to be vigilant of these atmospheric anomalies? What is their significance?"

"Why else would he need a watch dog-er, human?" She scoffed. "He had something to hide. Something big."

"Do you know what he was hiding?"

"Specifically? He was hiding documents in his office."

"And what did those documents pertain to?"

Her voice was down right bitter, "The invasion of Earth, I imagine. They certainly had to do with Humans."

Optimus was silent for a moment and Brea waited patiently for the next question. She began to feel more confident.

"Why do you believe those documents held such information?"

"On several occasions I heard him speak with his associates who were heavily involved with the selling and trading of humans. They expressed need to keep everything underwraps, hidden. For no one but them to see or know. Suspicious behavior."

"Could you provide the names of these associates?"

"Off the top of my head? Uh, let's see…there was Swindle, Vortex, and someone named Onslaught who I heard Swindle talking to about someone from the investigation who was there and wanted to speak with him about the documents, I think…and someone named Ratbat…I've heard his name a couple times," Brea stated, her voice curious rather then accusatory as she tried to recall. "Swindle and Vortex were on the transport ship that brought me here too. Me and several others were separated from the bigger group and brought to a place where two Mechs named Tightwire and Leadline watched over us until we were claimed by our…owners. I was the last one of us to be picked up, but I can't remember the names of any of the Mechs who came to pick the others up…except for my old owner of course. And a femme called Viral. They called her Lady Viral."

"Who was your owner?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"Brea?"

"I…" she looked down at the table top. "Do I have to say his name on record?"

"Not unless you do not feel comfortable about revealing him."

Brea was silent, mulling it over in her head.

"Why do you not wish to say his name?"

"It's not that I won't say it…it's just…"

Optimus waited a moment before prompting her to continue, "Yes?"

Brea didn't answer right away. "When he realized I knew what I knew and that…I was a security risk…he tried to have me killed."

Optimus paused, his optics seeming to dim and narrow slightly. "You fear he might try again if you exposed him?"

"…yes." When she looked up, Prowl's mouth drooped in a mild frown, but she ignored it.

"Is he aware that you escaped the attempt?"

"I…don't know for sure. I _assume_ Swindle told him, but he might not have. He might've been scared he'd get shot, I don't really know how they deal with that kind of thing. But when he finds out I'm still alive he might try again. I saw everything that went on in that office for the past six months; and he knows I did. I know he hired Swindle to replace everything so it looked like his dealings were legit to fool the investigation; he did them for that Ratbat guy too. I remember that. I can't say what was exactly on the data-pads as far as actual quotes, but all I know is that they had to do with Earth and my people."

"If I asked you to disclose your owners name would you?"

Brea took a long fueling breath, attempting to mimic the breathing patterns her mother used whenever she did her yoga exercises. Brea slowly looked up into the Mechs' faces across from her, noting their somewhat anxious gazes. They needed her to say his name aloud, they needed her testimony. How strange, she thought, that she should suddenly find his name a burden in her mind. She was tired of it. Tired of being crushed under his shadow. He didn't own her anymore. It was stupid. She was free! Safe and protected behind these walls. She needed to get away from him, even the mere thought of him that in anyway projected that somehow, someway, he still had power over her. He didn't. He was far away, in a completely different city and yet somehow she'd been feeling as oppressed by him as ever. It angered her. She straightened her posture, closed her eyes, and slowly released her breath. Opening her eyes, she said in a lowly voice, "Xeon."

Both Mech's optics pulsed and Prowl looked very close to actually smiling. Maybe. It might have just been a trick of the light.

"_Emirate_ Xeon was the Mech who bought and kept you?" Optimus asked. Brea noticed the somewhat strained injection of Xeon's title, something she purposefully negated in her answer. He was no lord, he was a fiend.

"Yes," she said simply, as if the fact meant nothing to her at all. "I lived in his tower, across from Lady Viral's estate. In the top room with the big window."

Optimus nodded, seeming very pleased. "Could you now explain how you can to have those scars upon your neck?"

Brea blinked. Somehow, she assumed once she had revealed Xeon's name to the camera, they would be done and she could go back to the Sanctuary, that his reveal was the climax. Her hand immediately reached up to her neck, but scolded herself and placed both hands folded before her. "The burns on my neck happened at the processing facility when Tightwire and Leadline tried to retag me. The used some sort of torch or welder to take off the shipping tag and the hot metal fell off and burned me."

"So it was an accident."

"Yes. However, to say it was an accident implies that they felt some remorse."

"And did they?"

"Only out of fear of their money. Damaged goods aren't very profitable, you see."

"And the injury to your wrist? Was that also an accident?"

Brea shook her head. She felt a knot form in her throat but she swallowed past it. "No. Xeon did this."

"He struck you?"

"Yes." Brea raised her hand and brushed it across her lips, "I had some bruised rips and a spit lip…my wrist was sprained really bad," she raised her braced hand as evidence.

"On how many occasions did your owner abuse you?"

"…physically? Only once."

"He only beat you once?"

"Yes."

"Could you say why?"

She suppressed a grin as she replied, "Because I wouldn't do what he said..."

"He beat you for disobedience?"

"That depends on what you consider disobedience," Brea suddenly challenged, "He beat me because I knew something he didn't want me to know and I told him that I wasn't going to cooperate and let him continue doing the things he was doing. From my perspective, I wasn't being disobedient."

"What would you call it then?" Optimus asked in mild puzzlement.

She smiled wickedly, "I was rebelling. I'm American, we're known for that."

His optics glowed brighter and she was almost certain she saw Prowl smirk a little. Maybe. Optimus's voice was amused as he tilted his head and said, "Oh?"

Brea crossed her arms and looked at them with an air of pride, "I don't know how much of our history you're familiar with, but The United States of America, where I'm from, was founded by rebelling against the most powerful empire on the planet, at the time, and declaring our independence from them. We called it the Revolutionary War. And we won; with lesser numbers, training, experience, and supplies. And our story is not all that uncommon. If there is one thing about the human race that Cybertron needs to understand is that we're good at being the underdog. Push us long and hard enough, we'll start to push back. Hard. Humans aren't meant to be slaves. We're free beings."

Optimus Prime regarded her for a moment and turned to Prowl, giving the stoic figure a curt nod. Prowl rose from his seat and strode over to the consul. The camera above retracted and Brea watched as it slid back into the ceiling.

"I think we have what we needed for now," Optimus said, a smile in his voice. "Thank you, Brea."

Brea nodded, getting to her feet. "So…when is this trial…thing supposed to happen?"

"Not for another three or fours orns if all goes well," Optimus replied. "I hope to gather more evidence between now and then. Your testimony will be a great asset to the case. I thank you."

"Ah, nah. No problem," As the large red and blue Mech rose to his feet, Brea looked up into his face and said, "I should thank you, really. Y'know…for doing all of this for us. I just wish there was more I could do on my end to help."

Optimus merely nodded. "You are doing fine. And I am more then happy to help your people. I would be a failure in my position should I turn blind optics and ignore your plight. It would go against one of the Primes' most upheld and solemn beliefs."

Brea furrowed her brows in confusion. "What's that?"

His optics flashed with some indiscernible emotion as he replied, "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings."

* * *

Author's Notes part 2: I know, I know...but I had to put it in SOMEWHERE. And Brea's starting to come out of her shell! Yay! As always, please leave your thoughts and critiques in a review so I may better myself as a writer. Plus it makes me happy! lol


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Notes:** So many wonderful responses! Thank you everyone!

* * *

Phase Nine: Shattered Glass

Chapter Twenty-One

* * *

Brea woke abruptly in a cold sweat. Her breath caught awkwardly in her throat and she coughed, sitting up and placing a shaky hand to her forehead. Her palms were clammy and her vision seemed to twitch with every pulse of her rapidly beating heart, and her mind pounded relentlessly inside her skull. She felt ill.

"Mm…Brea?" A croaky voice, drunk with sleep, asked from beside her. Brea glanced down at the form of the older woman, her raven hair clinging to her scalp in a tangled mess, looking like a feathered bird's nest. "Whas wrong, sweetie…?"

"I'm fine," She asserted almost automatically, slightly winded. "Just…just a dream."

As Annie groaned in acknowledgement and turned back over, easily drifting back to sleep, Brea questioned whether or not she had said that to assure Annie or herself. She stared at the dark haired woman for a moment, glancing over to see baby Becky sound asleep in her little padded bundle, before laying back down and crossing her arms over her eyes, willing her panicked heart to settle. She couldn't fall asleep. The memory of the nightmare lingered just below her conscious thoughts, buried just enough so the images were only vague notions and they couldn't worry her. But just the mere idea of them was enough to send small jolts of dread, running up her arms and through her chest to stab at her stomach, making her feel woozy.

She felt like crying. The nightmares were starting to grow worse. She'd been expecting them to for some time…

The shed was suddenly inadequately small and she rose to her feet, nearly stumbling when her feet caught in the folds of the impromptu mattress. Blades of grass wedged between her toes as she dragged her feet along through the clearing, having not the energy to lift them more then a few centimeters off the ground. She made a slow procession towards the pantry; a long storage shed set a little ways off from the main camp. The Pantry held stores of food that the resident humans had started to saved up for emergencies or incase of unexpected numbers of new arrivals. It had been a new idea and only held a little bit of food, but still managed to be impressive for their small output. Inside were some boxes of dried fruits and vegetables they'd gathered, some hard bread, ground spices, and herbs. Annie had shown her the pantry a few days prior when she'd been given the 'offical tour'. She would go about the stores, pulling out various dried plants and explaining that they were used to cure certain ailments, common things, and that they used them mostly to help Preston who was chronically ill. When Brea had asked, rather hesitantly, if he might be HIV positive or even have Aids, Annie had shrugged. Apparently this was something she had thought of often and was among their greatest concerns.

"We're not sure," She had said solemnly. "They did a lot of things to him. But he always says part of his condition is his own fault. He's done a lot of drugs in his life. So no one can be certain."

"So…will he be alright?"

"Of course! Ratchet wouldn't let _anything_ happen to Preston," Annie said with a laugh, "Neither of them would admit it, but they're really good friends. I would go so far as saying it's love. They're like brothers the way they argue, it's adorable. Fixit get into it a bit sometimes, but mostly because Preston hates being scanned or poked at. Ratchet was the Mech who saved him, y'know. From the labs."

"Labs?" Brea looked at the older woman in alarm.

Annie's expression, while trying to remain neutral, betrayed the utter disgust and contempt she held for such an institution.

"Yeah, long before any of us were brought here. Apparently when they first discovered Earth, they caught of few of us, mostly homeless from what Preston told me, and brought them back here and did a lot of…really bad things to them. Experiments and things like that. Ratchet said Preston was the only one he could save that had an actual chance of surviving. He almost didn't though."

"So, Preston was the first?" Brea asked. "To be rescued I mean."

"Yeah," Annie replied, placing the dried plants back into their boxes. "I guess Ratchet is one of Optimus's old war buddies and he went to him and told him about what was happening with us. That's when the idea of the Sanctuary came in. I was brought in probably about two months after that. Maybe a little longer, I'm not too sure. I was still pregnant at the time too. Becky was born here in the Sanctuary."

Brea had smiled a little at that, "Yeah, Caleb told me everyone freaked out."

"Oh yeah!" Annie's face lit up with mirth and she laughed. "I had to keep yelling instructions at everyone on what to do, all through the labor pains. During the whole thing! I read every baby book in existence so I knew what was going to happen, oh but poor Preston. He didn't have clue. He looked so faint when the baby finally came out. He held her in his arm and said, 'It's a girl…I think'. I'm surprised he didn't faint."

Brea was silent for a moment before asking, "We're you scared?"

Annie didn't answer right away and when she did, her voice was soft, "I was terrified. I couldn't stop thinking about my husband and how much I wished he was there to see his daughter or just to hold my hand and tell me it was alright. It's scary when you have to take charge when you're use to following. Even though I knew what was going to happen, I was so scared I would do something wrong or forget something. I thought, _what if I die and there's no one around to take care of her for me? What if the baby dies? How could I live on without her or Evan?_ But everything went fine. Becky was perfectly healthy. But I was still sad that there was a very high chance that Evan will never meet his child and that Becky will never meet her father. I miss him so much. She's so like him, even her laugh. She has his eyes. I see him whenever I look at her. It's comforting in a lot of ways, but sometimes it makes me sad." She paused and took a refueling breath, "But I know we're safe here, so it's okay. I know he'd be glad to know we're safe. I can only hope he's been as lucky."

Annie, it seemed, was one of those rare people who seemed to have an innate ability to survive without really trying. She was an anomaly for sure; she new how to do thing that most people had not a clue of. Knowledge was her strength and with that, their small community was able to flourish. She would have made a wonderful history teacher, Brea thought. Had Annie not been there, Brea was very sure things would have been much different in the Sanctuary. And despite all her obvious strengths, she was still a woman. And a mother. She was just like Brea in that she was just as scared and felt just as vulnerable. It defiantly gave Brea something to think about.

Zoë and Izzy were remarkably resilient for their age. She hadn't really seen them cry or break down, but she suspected they might have past that stage of the game. In all retrospect, Brea wasn't sure if they fully understood where they were or the situation they were in. They spent most of their time playing, running around and climbing trees. The only time she had seen either of them cry was when Zoë came running into the camp sobbing and covered in mud. Fixit and Stakeout had dropped by for visit, as well as a check up on Preston, and the little girl ran immediately to Fixit, who it seemed was Zoë's favorite Mech to come crying to. Through her tears, she managed to explain (accuse rather) that Izzy had pushed her into a mud puddle near the garden. Stakeout then assured the teary-eyed girl that he would seek the wrong-doer out (in a rather frivolous and over the top display of chivalry that made everyone snigger, but also managed to finagle a smile from Zoë) and bring him to justice. He then went out into the trees to find the culprit, only returning when he had found, and caught, the guilty-faced boy; striding into camp with him strung over his shoulder like some prize. It was funny to see the two Mechs berating the young boy on his abhorring behavior and how he was to treat his sister from now on. On top of that, he had several other adults to answer to once the Micromasters were done. Poor Izzy had looked so pitiful and guilty-faced Brea was tempted to comfort him, but decided it wasn't her place to undo the other's disciplinary tactics. Then there was the time Izzy fell out of a tree and it took Craig a good ten minutes to calm the boy down. He had been more scared then hurt, brandishing long scraps along his arms that needed little more then a good washing and a kiss from Annie, despite the boy's protest that he was too old for such treatment.

Craig, Brea had noticed, was a very quiet, reserved person; rather he was very good at keeping secrets. It wasn't hard to understand why he didn't like talking about his life or what he'd been subjected to, only mentioning anything about himself before his capture in small, seemingly random, moments of openness. Just like Caleb and his brothers, Craig was an ex-arena fighter. Perhaps the boys knew the more detailed facts, and maybe Annie, but Brea didn't. And she wasn't eager to try and divulge information she really was not keen on knowing. If he didn't want to talk about it, it was fine. Despite his secretiveness, he was very social, very friendly. He loved to laugh and joke as much as the boys, and seemed to have taken up the father figure role just as Annie had been taken up as the Mother. All four of them had been rescued from a euthanization compound; Craig had lost a match, was injured, and was had been sent off to be killed. There was no attempts at healing sick or injured fighters. The boys however, had been more of a paradox. Sean had told Brea that he and Rodney had learned their younger brother had been sent off to be killed. Hearing this, and in protest, both brothers refused to fight and were soon shipped off to be killed as well. Mechs had little patience for insubordination it seemed. It was a lucky chance that they had all ended up in the same compound and that such a place would be the target of a rescue by the former Autobots. Craig helped take care of the three youngest of their group and was usually the driving force of much of their excursions like the pantry and garden. Annie was usually the mastermind. All in all, it was a nice situation. They were all like a family. And Preston was the crazy Uncle.

The boys were just as one would imagine three brothers would be; loud, disgusting, and competitive. Sean was the oldest, followed by Rodney, and then Caleb. Sean and Rodney always seemed to be wrestling or arguing or complaining or trying to out-do one another. Caleb was far more mild mannered then his brothers, and was regularly on the receiving end of their jabs and jokes. It was well intended, anything to distract them from reality or what they had seen.

And then there was Brea.

The group always included her in everything they did, even prompting her to join in discussions and games. She was still timid about some things but they always tried to give her a push to get her going, especially Caleb. The one time they had convinced her to play football, they got a little peeved when she called it soccer, with them she ended up spraining her big toe; soccer was a sport best played with shoes. How the boys managed not to break their toes with how much they played was a feat in and of itself. She opted to be the spectator and help settle disputes when an argument broke out. And there was always an argument. Despite all their assurance of inclusion, she still felt like an outsider, not quiet fitting in just yet. Annie assured her that it was only a matter of time and that they were determined to accept her in their ranks, whether she liked it or not. That had been a great reassurance to Brea and started attempting to push herself into joining in activities; be they conversations or chores, though Annie seemed reluctant to give her any sort of work load. So far it seemed to be working, if only on the surface.

And even Kimberly seemed to start opening more, if only a little. She still clung to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker like glue, but Brea noticed she followed her around a lot more. Brea thought perhaps Kimberly might have been angry at her for prior occurrences, but whenever Brea found herself alone, Kimberly would appear seemingly out of nowhere and spend a few minutes sitting. She would listen to Brea talk or simply watch whatever it was Brea was doing at the time. Brea didn't mind. It was nice to have her around, even if it was always very quiet.

Along side the Pantry were the 'bathrooms' or the equivalent to such. There were two stalls, one for girls and one for boys, that each held a very odd looking toilet thing. They were metal and resembled the toilets on airplanes more then the porcelain thrones of modern American house holds; odd, small, and very alien looking. Still, it was a vast improvement. They had been Annie's idea; leave it up to a woman to convince giant alien robot to fabricate a proper toilet.

But Brea had not come for the toilets or for food. She walked past all that, the Pantry and restrooms, and made an unsteady beeline for the water fountain. It was a pump, essentially, positioned next to the stalls. She lowered herself to her knees and pulled the handle and waited for a moment before plunging her head underneath the faucet, allowing the painfully freezing water to drench her head, drowning out all thoughts. She pulled herself away and turned it off, leaning over and allowing her soaking hair to drip. She stayed there, eyes focusing on the ground as the water seeped into the grass and dirt. Her hands clenched at her sides and she shivered.

She heard an odd sound coming from one of the stalls and she jerked around to see Kimberly exit one of them. She held her arms close to her body as she all but snuck out of the toilet, obviously not wanting to be seen, discreetly shutting the door behind her and turning around. Upon seeing her, Kimberly froze and, perhaps for a moment, she thought she was someone else and looked as though she was about to panic but it passed when she realized it was Brea. At first, they just stared at each other as if unsure what to do. Brea made no move or indication of anything, just sat and stared through wet tangles of hair. And likewise, Kimberly watched from where she stood, hands pinching folds of the dress she wore.

Kimberly's eyes were a bright green and after a few moments, Brea found it hard to look at them. Turning away, Brea raised a hand to wipe away the water on her face. The top of her dress was wet from the water pump and she was cold. She heard the footsteps so when Kimberly suddenly appeared beside her, she wasn't startled. Kimberly crouched down next to her, one warm hand resting on Brea's shoulder, and tilted her head as if the awkward angle would reveal more then a vertical one.

And then she noticed it…a strange scent. Brea turned to look at Kimberly, puzzled. "Kimberly? Are you…wearing _perfume_?"

The girl suddenly smiled and nodded eagerly. She pointed off into the trees and jerked her head as if asking, 'do you want some?' "No thank you," Brea said softly. Kimberly looked disappointed. Then she reached out and brushed away a strange of hair, gently tucking it behind Brea's ear, and took her hand in hers. She gently tugged, motioning towards the trees with her head. Brea shook her head at the attempted persuasion. "No Kimberly, please. Not right now. I…I have a lot on my mind. I just need to be alone for a moment."

Kimberly suddenly took a hold of her head, framing her face with her warm hands, squishing her cheeks together in a very comedic way that seemed to rip apart Brea's melancholy disposition. She stared directly into Brea's eyes and shook her head. And smiled.

* * *

Brea followed along more out of exhaustion then anything. She didn't possess the resolve at the moment to resist Kimberly's eager nudges. It was simply easier to follow along without complaint or comment. As she trailed behind the red haired girl, Brea began to notice her drowsiness more and more. The nightmare had stolen away a peaceful night's sleep and her body begged her to attempt to regain some of it.

Kimberly led her to the same clearing from before, Brea could tell by the indentions in the grass from where Sideswipe had been laying. Apparently that was _his_ spot. Passing through, Kimberly led her towards a tight cluster of trees in the back. The formation made a sort of alcove, with just enough room between two trees for someone to squeeze through. Brea followed Kimberly inside and blinked at what she saw. Strung from the branches that arched across the top of the trees like a canopy, were numerous objects and do-dads; jewelry, Christmas lights, glass bulbs, pieces of colored clothe, and what looked like jewels. There was color everywhere! It was small and most of the alcove's floor was dominated by the sleeping pad, but the area that was not was occupied by a couple boxes. It was beautiful.

Kimberly strolled over to one of the boxes and began foraging inside. Brea, slowly stepping inside, looked at the seemingly random paraphernalia that was strung around and there was a particular section that captivated her the most; a collection of glass and plastic bottles. Shards of colored glass were strung together in front of a small opening and light poured in through them, speckling the room in colored beams of light like a prism. It reminded her of the stained glass windows of those grand old cathedrals and she smiled. It was like…Kimberly's personal sanctuary.

A scene from the movie 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame' flashed in her mind; where Quasimodo leaped from pillar to pillar and hoisted the prone form of Esmeralda above his head, screaming out 'Sanctuary! Sanctuary! Sanctuary!'

Pulling out a curvy bottle with amber liquid inside, Kimberly turned and handed it to Brea. Taking it in her hands, Brea ran her thumb across as she tried to read what the brand was, but it looked French and Brea had taken Spanish in high school. Looking about, Brea took in the sight, feeling a strange sort of elation as she did.

"Where did you get all of this stuff?" She asked. Her answer was to point off in some random direction and Brea hazard a guess. "…Sideswipe and Sunstreaker?"

Kimberly shook her head. Brea remembered Annie and Caleb mentioning that Jazz would bring whatever human things he could find. "Did you get this stuff from Jazz?"

This time she nodded, setting down on the sleeping pad. Brea sank down beside her, studying the perfume bottle as if it were some lost treasure. Kimberly reached out and took the bottle, grabbing Brea's arm and spraying a little onto her wrist. Brea smiled and rubbed her wrists together, bringing them up to her face to smell the aroma. It was a strong, flowery scent and she recoiled when she got a little too strong of a whiff.

Kimberly laughed.

Looking up at the girl in surprise, Brea cried, "You laughed!"

Kimberly blinked, looking slightly confused and then nodded. Brea felt baffled as she tried to wrap her mind around it. "So…Can you really not talk? Or do you just not want to?"

Kimberly looked startled and then seemed to consider it. She shrugged. "You don't want to do you?" Brea asked to clarify.

Kimberly nodded.

"Why not?" She asked. "Is there something…wrong? Do you talk to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker at all?" Kimberly raised her hand and flapped it in a 'so-so' gesture. Brea paused and looked down at her perfumed wrists before returning to look up at the other girl.

"…would you talk to me?" Brea asked.

Kimberly, in a very teenage fashion, shrugged. Brea sighed. "Because…I'll listen. If you ever need to…or just want to talk. If something's bothering you or if you have something you don't want to…or can't tell those two. You can tell me. We can…" she hesitated before adding, with a touch of hopefulness, "…help each other."

Kimberly was silent for a long moment staring at Brea. She didn't turn away from her green eyes this time; instead she stared back, desperate for an answer, for some release. Finally, Kimberly smiled and said in a small, almost worn, voice, "Okay."

Brea felt an elation rise up when she finally heard her voice and she couldn't suppress her smile. She had reached out and in return, Kimberly had reached back; successful social and verbal contact! And so, in confidence, Brea told her…everything.

* * *

When Brea returned to camp, Kimberly came with her. She wasn't sure if it was because of what she had told her or if she was just hungry. Either way, Brea saw it as a big step forward. Already she was beginning to feel like her old self. How strange, bearing one's soul seemed to purge all ill thoughts away, if not only for a moment.

The red head had listened to all her prattling and never interrupted. Perhaps she would understand and in turn, Brea would be able to help her. She found it comforting to finally tell someone, a human who could possibly understand and sympathize, her story and the worries she held inside so tightly. She felt lighter, more nimble, and, most importantly, more receptive. At the end of it, Brea wiped away her tears, composed herself, and looked to the girl across from her for some form of acknowledgement; something inside was terrified that Kimberly might reject or scorn her. On all fours, Kimberly turned and crawled to the head of her sleeping pad and pulled up the covers, seeming to search for something hidden amongst the folds. Sitting on her knees, Kimberly turned back to her and held out the object to Brea as if to say '_Ta-da_!'

For a moment…she just stared at it; unsure and confused. Gazing back at her with hollow black eyes was a teddy bear; stained, worn, and ripped, some of the stuffing had clumped together at the bottom of its right leg, and its left eye was missing. Brea looked from the bear to Kimberly uncertainly.

Kimberly pushed the teddy bear into Brea's arms. Hands hovered over the pitiful doll hesitantly and she gingerly ran a finger across its little nose, feeling the smooth black plastic. She took it up in her arms and stared at it, feeling odd.

Looking back at Kimberly, Brea suddenly found it hard to speak. "Is…is this for…me?"

Kimberly nodded, smiling brilliantly. She looked down wistfully at the bear and ran a finger over its fuzzy head. Her voice was strained, and it was obvious speaking was still difficult for her, "It…helped me."

She let those words sink in before replying. "T-thank you…" Brea said, pulling the teddy bear into an embrace.

Brea had taken the teddy bear with her when they made the short walk to camp, smelling breakfast as they approached. Brea wondered if she should name the teddy bear. When she reached the clearing, everyone was up and about and eating except for Preston and little Becky who it seems were still sleeping. The three brothers sat close together, quietly eating their soup while Izzy and Zoë stayed close to Craig, giggling over something. Brea looked over to see that Izzy had spilled some of his soup down his front and Annie walked over to wipe it away with the hem of her dress.

As Brea emerged from behind the trees, Annie looked up and smiled. "Oh! Brea, I was wondering where you went. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she replied. She didn't miss the curious glances she was getting, or rather the ragged old teddy bear was getting. Glancing back, Brea saw Kimberly peeking out from behind a tree a little ways off. "Could I have a bowl to give to Kimberly?"

Everyone looked up from their breakfast and looked around as if to find the girl, perhaps wondering if they needed to move away for her comfort. Annie grabbed one of the metal bowls beside her and filled one up, handing it to Brea as she approached. "Here you go."

"Thanks," she replied and was about to turn and bring Kimberly her food when Annie stopped her. "Oh, Brea?"

She paused and glanced back, "Yeah?"

"Could you watch Becky for a few hours today? We're all going to be working in the garden and we need someone to watch her. And could you keep an eye on Preston too?"

Brea smiled and nodded, "Sure. I can do that."

"Thank you," the raven haired woman replied, "I've set aside some broth for him when he wakes up. Just give him that. And there's a bottle for Becky next to the bed."

Brea ate breakfast with Kimberly, sitting side by side a little ways off from camp where she could feel comfortable. It was a silent meal for the most part, but Brea didn't mind. She had a lot to ponder, and for once…it wasn't the doom and gloom of her own thoughts. Instead, she ransacked her mind, trying to find anything that she might have forgotten to tell Optimus and Prowl when they had interviewed her. Something that could help the investigation; names, places, events. Anything.

Brea was staring intently into her soup when Kimberly tapped her on the shoulder. Looking over, she saw Kimberly make a face at her; cheeks puffed up, lips pursed, and eyes crossed. Brea laughed, coughing a little when she accidentally inhaled some of her soup, making the other girl giggle. Beside them, the teddy bear said nothing.

It was a few minutes later that Annie called out that they were leaving for the garden and Brea went on ahead but Kimberly waited until the others had gone before entering the camp. Washing and putting their bowls away, Brea walked into the shed she shared with Annie and picked Becky up, wrapped in her blankets. The baby stirred, whimpering in protest at being disturbed, before settling and falling back into blissful slumber. Sitting down near the fire pit, Brea gently swayed the infant, still not quite sure what to do. She'd never babysat an infant before.

Kimberly sat down beside her, staring at Becky curiously.

"Wanna hold her?" Brea asked. Kimberly looked up at Brea, startled, but her expression softened again and after a hesitant moment, she nodded.

Brea carefully shifted Beck in her arms and gently transferred her over to Kimberly, instructing the girl on how to hold her just as Annie had told her.

"Her names Becky," Brea said as she watched Kimberly stare at the small child, looking vaguely awe-struck. She inserted her finger into the tiny infant hand, pudgy little fingers latching on instinctually. "Do you have any siblings Kimberly?"

She shook her head without looking at her. "You?"

"Yeah," Brea replied, "A younger brother. His name's Joey."

Kimberly looked up. "Where?"

"I don't know," Brea admitted sadly. "I can only hope he's with my parents and that they're some place safe."

Kimberly's eyes narrowed and she said solemnly, "No such thing."

"Maybe," Brea replied, "But it's not so much the place as it is the people. We're safe here. They're Mech up there working really hard to keep us safe. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker…they seem to care a lot for you."

"They rescued me," Kimberly replied softly.

"They'd never let anyone hurt you," Brea replied and Kimberly nodded. Then Brea looked dismayed, "But…why do they think Caleb attacked you?"

Kimberly seemed to sink into herself, holding Becky close to her chest.

"Did he really attack you?" Brea asked, anxious for an answer or explanation. "He just…doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would do something like that."

"He grabbed my arm," Kimberly replied in a small voice. "I got scared."

"And you scratched him?" Brea asked, recalling Sean mentioning something to that effect.

"Yeah," Kimberly replied.

"Are you scared of all the guys?" Kimberly nodded without hesitation and Brea didn't know whether to pity her or scold her.

"They're not going to do anything to you. Everyone seems to be worried about you, actually," Brea replied.

Kimberly's head snapped up, eyes wide and confused. "…really?"

"Yeah," Brea replied, surprised that the statement was such a revelation. "They just want to help you. They're trying to help everyone; it's just that…well. They're afraid you might...hurt yourself if they get to close, that you might go wild and stuff. Annie's really worried about you too. I guess it's her maternal instinct kicking in."

Kimberly suddenly looked ill and she looked away. "My Mom's gone."

For a long moment, Brea didn't know what to say. Finally, she just sighed and reached out to her, gently placing one hand on her shoulder. "I know. And I'm sorry. And I know there are things…men have done to you, but you can't blame these guys for what those creeps did to you. None of these guys ever hurt you, did they?"

Brea had expected an immediate answer, a shake of the head or a quiet 'no', but instead, she received silence and her heart dropped with dread. "None of these guys…they didn't…hurt you right?" She asked again, fearful she might receive the answer she feared. "They aren't some of the guys…Caleb isn't…?"

"I don't know," Kimberly replied, sinking further into herself.

"How can you not _know_? Did Caleb rape you or not?" Brea asked, almost yelling, with a little more forceful then she meant and only realized so when Kimberly hunched her shoulders and began to sob, clutching Becky to her. Brea felt a wave of remorse.

"I don't know!" Kimberly sobbed. "I don't remember!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. Don't cry, please, don't cry," _Brea_ felt like crying though. She didn't want to hear that Caleb could have possibly done something so…horrific. She eased closer to the crying girl and wrapped her arms around her, trying to give her some comfort, to let her know she wasn't going to leave her. In a voice that was almost a whisper, she asked, "Kimberly, please. I have to know…did Caleb…did he really?"

Kimberly hiccupped and swallowed thickly, "I don't know."

The answer burned holes through Brea and she lowered her head in defeat, laying her forehead on her shoulder. "They put me in with him…like the other times," Kimberly continued, voice retracting into a mousey, timid, little squeak, "And I got really scared. I was _so scared_…"

Brea was breathing heavy now, almost hyperventilating. She unconsciously hugged Kimberly tighter. No, no…Caleb couldn't be such a horrible person as that…he wouldn't. How could _anyone_?

"He…was talking to me. I don't remember what he said," Kimberly went on, voice breaking, "And he reached out and grabbed my arm….and I screamed."

Brea didn't know if she wanted to hear this. She didn't want to know…

"…and then I passed out."

Brea froze, looking up. "You…passed out? Before he did anything? You fainted?"

Kimberly nodded with a gutsy sob.

"Before you _saw_ him do anything?" She asked desperately, pulling away and staring intently into the girl's green eyes. "He didn't touch you?"

"…I don't know," Kimberly admitted with a small shake of her head, seeming to finally calm a little. "I was back…in my cage when I woke up." A pause. "Viral was really mad."

Brea suddenly felt a wave of relief. "He didn't do anything to you," She said with awe, as if some great revelation had taken place. She began to ramble in her overwhelming relief, "When I asked him about it…he…he got really upset. He said he didn't like you looking at him they way you do, like he was a devil or something. He said he didn't touch you. That they just shoved you in together and told him to…he didn't though. Kimberly, he didn't touch you!"

Brea looked at her with enthusiasm, waiting for her repsonse. But Kimberly was looking at her funny and Brea's smile faded and she blinked, letting go of her. A long moment passed and Brea looked at the other girl suspiciously, "What?"

Her cheeks were still stained with tears when she suddenly brightened and she smiled knowingly.

Brea looked at her askance. "What?"

"You like him." The world suddenly seemed to have flipped and Brea abruptly found herself in the interrogation chair. Emotions already running high, she flushed and scoffed, pulling away completely. "I do not!"

"You do," Kimberly replied, smile widening and leaning forward. "You like him."

"He's just a friend," Brea insisted, blush doubling.

"You're in love with him," Kimberly replied with a laugh.

"It's not love!" She said, "It's just…it's not…."

"…you like him." Kimberly grinned wickedly, green eyes sparkling with mirth.

Brea felt indignant and refused to answer. Kimberly pounced, scotching close. "That's why you were crying…"

"How was I supposed to act when one of my friends is accused of _raping_ someone?" Brea countered bitterly. "It's not a small deal!"

"You were afraid," Kimberly replied, seeming to come to some sort of revelation herself, "That if he did…you couldn't…it wouldn't be right love him anymore."

Brea got to her feet and abruptly announced, "I'm gonna go give Preston his broth."

* * *

**Author's Note part 2:** Sorry for the lack of any Mechs in this chpater really. But they're around. As I mentioned somewhere, this phase of the story is more of a interlude. But just keep in mind things will be picking up within the next few chapters. I promise. You may even hate me by the time we reach that point. Anyway, as always: I appriciate all feed back and comments, so please leave a review! Thankies!


	22. Chapter 22

Author's Notes:I thank you all for the reviews and support. This chapter is a little longer then usual, but hey I don't see that as a bad thing. I also noticed I've been miss-naming the phase titles. Ooops. The last two chapters are Phase Eleven and before that is Ten. Just to clarify for anyone who noticed and was baffled. As always, please read and review!

* * *

Phase Twelve: Shattered Glass

Chapter Twenty-two

* * *

Preston was awake when she entered his shed. He lay on his back, gazing up at the metal ceiling, hands neatly folded over his stomach. Brea hadn't expected for him to be awake, rather she had been wondering how to apologize for waking him when she entered. When she paused in the shed threshold, bowl of broth in hand, he turned his head, pale eyes looking at her, and he smirked. "So…You got the hots for our little John, huh?"

"What?" She asked incredulously, not sure if she should be confused or insulted. Or both. "Who's John?"

"Caleb," he clarified, "He's John. Sean's Paul, and Rodney is Ringo."

Brea rolled her eyes and entered, carefully sitting next to the man. "So then who's George?"

"I am," he replied with a grin. "So that makes you Yoko."

Brea sighed, aggravated. "It's not like that. He's just friend."

"Alright," he replied with an indifferent shrug. "If you say so."

Brea helped Preston sit up so he could take some broth. He manages half of the bowl before refusing anymore, citing his reoccurring nausea. Brea was about to get up and leave when Preston abruptly said, "I'm sorry."

She looked at him confused and shrugged, not seeing any point in him apologizing. "It's Ok. Kimberly was teasing me too, so…."

"Not about Caleb," He said, shaking his head, "About what I said to you before, when you first got here. Y'know, about the fruit thing? I didn't mean to make you feel bad or anything. Annie got on my case about it and I hadn't really gotten a chance to talk to you alone, so…" He motioned to the room around him, but more in a fashion of saying 'so here we are'.

Brea was still, not quite sure how to respond. After a moment of internal debate, she sat back down to hear him out.

"It was pretty inconsiderate," He continued, looking at her with his pale eyes. "I'm sorry. Ratchet told me about that Xeon guy. Said you were stuck with him for a while. Must have sucked."

She tried to think of something to say that didn't sound arrogant.

"It wasn't…unpleasant so much as it was...boring," she said, mentally adding with copious malice,_ 'except for the last few days of course'_. "He wasn't around much really. I was alone most of the time."

Preston nodded and was silent for a moment, seeming to study her. "Must've been real lonely."

Brea blinked, having not expected him of all people to say such a thing. Sure it'd been boring without anyone around and sure she was lonely a lot of the time…but what did that have to do with anything? He was probably trying to make small talk, she decided. He probably felt awkward about what he'd said. So she nodded and conceded the point. "Yeah…it got pretty lonesome sometimes."

"No wonder you feel bad," He mused.

Okay that was unexpected. Brea's chest suddenly tightened and she looked at him bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"Fixit said you felt like you were to blame for the shit that guy did to all us, like you let it happen or something," Preston explained in a simple tone. "That's pretty jacked up thinking. But all alone with only that guy as company for months? Makes sense you wouldn't see the shit that was going on. I mean, I've always been on my own technically, but I left home when I was still a know-nothing punk, so there ya go. My Dad was no good. Drank a lot and would just knock the shit outta me and my Mom. She was like you I guess, in a weird way. Even when she got the shit kicked out of her, she still stood by him, like somehow if she ignored everything it'd go away or if you didn't talk about it that it never happened. Sometimes I wonder if she even realized what was going on the way she would act after it happened. Or worse was when she blamed herself for it. She was afraid to be alone, I think. My Grandpa was a bastard too, I bet he beat her when she was a kid. She was probably use to ignoring that kinda shit just to be able to have some sort of normalcy, even if it was shit. But I wasn't afraid to be alone like her. I couldn't wait to get the fuck outta there. So one night when my old man got real hammered and started in on me, I punched him in the face and left…well ran actually. Anyway, I hitchhiked to the nearest city and never looked back. Joined a gang there, too. And no, before you ask—I didn't kill anyone. I did have a gun though. But my point is, even if I was on my own technically, I still had those guys in the gang to fall back on for help or just to hang out with or to bum cash or drugs off of or whatever. The lowest point in my life was when I didn't have that. It was worse then jail. Yeah, I spent a few years in the slammer. I was still the same junkie as I had been when I got out, but the gang wasn't around anymore for me to fall back on. I can tell you, that really sucked. And it's also when I got snagged. So there's a lesson there; don't do drug and join gangs or aliens will abduct your sorry ass."

Brea huffed a small laugh, but something inside her head was churning. She seemed fused to the ground, staring at it him if the answers were right there in his eyes.

"So I guess what I'm saying is…I understand why you did it, even if you might not," he went on, "No one wants to be alone, even if the only one around's a complete bastard. It's just how we are I guess. We need someone around to play off of or we go nuts. I've heard some people say something like we need someone else to be there to validate our existence or something like that. I dunno, but we're just made to around other people. Even the way society is and how we are, we need other people to survive. We can't do it all alone. Or in your case, you needed a giant alien bastard. But just because he did something evil, doesn't make _you_ evil. Guilt be association isn't one of our creeds here, kiddo. You got some psychological boo-boos? Let us know what they are so we can kiss 'em and make 'em feel all better, alright?"

Brea slowly nodded, completely missing the joking tone he spoke the last part in and feeling numb, but in a good way. "Thank you."

"Hey, that's what we do. You ain't alone either so you don't need to go pull a 'Kimberly' and disappear when you're scared or something. That's what she does. Runs. It's all she does," He paused. "We all have our demons to face. Some of us have lived up to 'em and some of us are still working on it. You should've seen how screwed up those boys were when they were brought in from the Arenas. Took a lot of group hugs for them to calm down. Especially your boy-toy."

Brea frowned, blushing. "He's not my…"

"Whatever," Preston replied, not bothering to hide his smirk. "Fixit was the one to wiggle his story out of him, but they have a sort of Doctor-patient confidentiality thing going on. I don't even think his brothers know all of it. Fix' only told Ratchet the vague details about it, especially after Kimberly whacked the kid a good one."

"Huh?"

"Oh yeah," Preston replied. "When she was first brought here. I guess Caleb recognized her from somewhere and tried to talk to her and she just went off on him when he got too close. Gave him a huge gash across his cheek. The condiment twins've been keeping her away from us ever since."

"She's outside," Brea said absently, mind spinning with the news. "With Becky. She's talking now too. To me anyway."

"I thought that might be her," Preston said. "Good to see her latching onto someone. A human I mean. I don't think those two know what their doing when they isolate her like that. She needs to reassert herself into a group setting. Annie's always telling us we need to be a close group, like a family, because trauma makes us all feel like outcasts or something like that and it'll help up cope with all this shit or whatever."

"They mean well," Brea replied, trying to act as if what he had just said meant nothing to her. But her mind was spinning. "I mean, Sunstreaker almost chucked someone off a tower balcony for messing with her. So it's not like they're doing anything bad on purpose."

Preston's eyes widened. "What?"

"Oh yeah," Brea grinned, "I actually saw it happen too. Xeon's tower was across from where Kimberly's owner lived."

Preston whistled in application. "Wish I had psychotic body guards to throw people off of balconies for me."

"You have Ratchet," Brea giggled.

"He's more like a giant robo-nanny," Preston scowled, "I swear, I keep expecting for him to talk with a British accent and force me to sit out straight and shit."

"He hasn't given you cod-liver oil has he?" Brea teased.

"No but he's given me so much other weird shit I almost wish he would," Preston replied, shivering at the thought.

Brea laughed.

"So," He asked, settling against the wall comfortable and folding his hands together when she'd settled down. "When're you gonna tell Prince Charming you wanna be his Cinderella?"

"Oh would you please drop it?" She asked, closing her eyes in irritation.

"Why?" Preston asked with a mischievous grin, "It's fun."

"Pestering people is fun?" she asked incredulously, rising to her feet.

"It passes the time," he replied simply, following her with his eyes.

She paused in the door way, turning toward his and raising an eye brow, unappreciatively. "Ha ha." And she flipped him the bird.

As she left, she heard Preston laugh. "Hey now, this kitty's got some bite. Mrow!"

She just shook her head, trying very hard to not smile. And Failing.

After she'd put the remainder of Preston's Broth away for later, she returned to find Becky giggling in Kimberly's arms as the red haired girl softly bounced the infant on her knee, smiling brilliantly. Brea had to smile at the endearing sight. "You're a lot better with kids then me," Brea admitted as she sat down next to the girl, hoping she wouldn't pursue the 'Crush on Caleb' topic. "I'm always afraid I'd drop her or something."

"She's cute," Kimberly replied, leaning in and giving the bubbly little girl a kiss on the forehead.

"I have an idea," Brea said, leaning back on her elbows. "On how we can get you comfortable around other people again."

Kimberly stopped bouncing Becky, much to her irritation, to look at Brea with mild alarmed. "…What?"

"I'm sure Sideswipe and Sunstreaker only want to help, but I think they may be doing more harm then good. Preston was just saying so and I think I agree. I say we take it slow. I mean you talked to me when you wouldn't talk to anyone, which was a big step for you. And now you're in the camp, playing with Becky and Preston's in bed not but a few yards away. I'm just purposing we take another step," Brea paused, "But I'm not going to force you into something your uncomfortable doing. I just want to help you; like you helped me. It might not have seemed like much, but just listening, and that teddy bear (which I still want to name) really helped. And it won't be for you either. We just need to take baby steps."

Kimberly looked down, considering her words. "You don't have to answer me right now," she assured her. "Just think about it. When you're ready, just let me know. Ok?"

Kimberly nodded after a moment. "Ok."

* * *

Brea was starting to drift off when she heard foot steps on the metal path, immediately recognizing them as belonging to Mechs. She sat up to see Jazz and Wheeljack strolling down the path way towards them. Beside her, she saw Kimberly stiffen, but she didn't move. She hadn't really seen Kimberly interact with other Mechs so she wasn't sure what to expect.

"It's OK," she told her with a smile, placing a hand on her leg.

"Hey there," Jazz called as they approached.

"Hi," Brea gave a wave, rising to her feet. Kimberly stayed where she was, cradling Becky.

"Wow Kimi," Jazz said, pausing at the edge of the path. "I never see you around here." He sounded genuinely surprised and crouched down, grinning at the girl. "How you been doing?"

"Okay…" she answered meekly, hunching her shoulders as if trying to hide; seeming more shy then afraid. Brea grinned from ear to ear as Jazz's face fell in absolute astonishment. His mouth was agape and beside him, Wheeljack titled his head curiously, "I thought she couldn't talk."

Brea laughed and patted Kimberly playfully on the head. "I'm working on it. She's made very good progress today."

"But…_how_?" Jazz asked. "Even Sideswipe couldn't get much of a peep from her. And she _adores_ him!"

A smile crept to Kimberly's face, which did not go unnoticed by Brea, who smiled and crossed her arms. "It's all about tactics."

Jazz crossed over the grass to sit next to her, dumbfounded. "I guess so…" He said at length. He suddenly grinned. "Well in any case, it's great! Congratulations Kimi. Welcome back to the land of verbal communication!"

Brea turned to look up at Wheeljack who was standing on the metal path, indecisively, as if unsure if he was allowed to approach. She smiled and waved him over. "Come on over, Wheeljack," she said. The Mech seemed to perk up and he carefully crossed the grass and sat down on the other side of her, sandwiching her between the two Mechs.

"See?" Brea said cheerfully, "I don't bite."

"She lies!" Preston's voice called out teasingly from his shed and Jazz laughed, leaning over to peer inside.

"Hey man," he said. "Wanna come out and join the party?"

"Uh…Better check with Kimberly," Preston replied. "I don't want her to go all Kung-fu crazy on me."

Jazz turned to Kimberly expectantly, giving her a hopeful smile. The girl looked uncertain for a moment, glancing between Jazz and Brea. Seeming to have come to a decision, she rose to her feet, with Becky still in her arms, and walked over to sit on the other side of Wheeljack, the white and grey Mech's bulk nearly blocking her from sight. "Ok," she said meekly.

Brea grinned with pride at the girl's progress. Beside her, Jazz also grinned and turned to peer back into Preston's hut. "All good to go, buddy."

Preston appeared at the door, a little wobbly on his feet, and peered into the clearing to make an inventory of those present and where they were. Noticing Kimberly was sitting, or rather hiding, beside Wheeljack, he strode over to sit next to Jazz, a good distance from the girl.

"Well isn't this nice?" Preston smirked, leaning back on his elbows. In the light, Brea could see just how sickly he really was; his skin was very pale and covered in scars (remnants of his time in the labs, perhaps? The thought sent a silent shiver through her), his eyes were sunken and he seemed world-weary, as if he had seen more then one should see. Despite that, he was well adapted to hide it; a defense mechanism maybe? He couldn't have been older then 35, but he appeared much older. Brea hadn't realized she'd been staring until Preston caught her eye. Brea blinked, flushing slightly, and turned away. She glanced guardedly back over to seem he was still looking her way, wicked grin plastered on his face.

"My my, how fleeting your fancy is m'lady," He snickered. "Arth thou in _heat_?"

Brea was sure her face was melting, gauging by the shear heat by which she flushed. Straightening in offense, she and shot him the most severe glare she could without potentially harming herself. She grasped for words, scoffing indignantly and possibly trying to find something close by to hurl at him "Ah! You…how dare….you-you…sick…you're a _pig_!"

"And you are far too amusing," Preston replied with a puckish grin.

Brea looked up to see Jazz beaming with mirth and glared. "You better wipe that smirk off your face before I fine something sharp to do it with."

"See?" Preston said to Wheeljack, sounding far too amused for Brea's liking, "She _does_ bite."

"Oh, when I find a stick big enough…" Brea said as she rose to her feet and went off to the side of the camp to find something and she could hear everyone giggling at her.

Preston just laid back and laughed at her empty threats. "Oh come on I was just kidding with you Barbie. I know you already got yourself a Ken."

Brea was about to retort when she heard a soft snicker and she whirled back to glare at Kimberly, who ducked behind Wheeljack's leg. She huffed in irritation, "Kimi! Don't encourage him!"

"Who's he talking about?" Jazz asked.

"No one!" Brea cried.

"Juliet found her Romeo," Kimberly added in her quiet voice, now speckled with notable glee and peeking out just a little, her face aglow. Had Brea not been near indignant fury, she might have noticed and perhaps even appreciated it for what it signified.

"There ya go Kimi!" Preston praised. And then, much to Brea's exasperation, Preston began to sing. "…_Will you be my Yoko Ono (Yoko Ono) you can follow me wherever I go. Be my (be my) be my (be my) be my Yoko Ono. Oh, be my (be my) be my (oh-be my) be my Yoko Ono_…"

Brea was about to chuck a stick at him, sickly or not, when Jazz, almost bursting into a fit of giggles, reached out and plucked it from her hands, tossing it away and far from her reach. "Aw, come on now, Brea; fight fair. No sticks."

She opened her mouth to reprimand the intervening Mech when he reached out to slip both his hands on either side of her and picked her up, setting her atop his thigh, still chuckling.

"Is this all one giant conspiracy?" Brea cried, wiggling against the Mech's grasp. She felt as though her head might explode from all the blood rushing to her face, fueling the maddening blush. Already she could feel the beginnings of a migraine.

"Ah, he's just teasing," Jazz told her, readjusting his grip when she began to succeed in squirming out from between his hands. He laugh, "C'mon. Stop wiggling."

"Let me down," Brea demanded.

"Only in you promise not to mortally wound Preston," Jazz replied, his voice practically vibrating between his chuckles.

"No promises," Brea retorted, "I may just maim him."

* * *

Wheeljack was utterly bewildered by the strange interaction between the two humans and Jazz, wondering if the female was at all serious about her threats or if they were mere jests, brought on by anger or embarrassment. He supposed so, seeing as Jazz seemed to find the entire engagement very amusing. Then again, Wheeljack seemed to recall that Jazz found many things amusing. Nevertheless, he added the observation to his notes to study later as well as to overview all he had made to better get a scope of the enigma that was the Human species.

His first encounter with Humans had not been at Optimus Prime's facility; rather it had been at an acquaintance's domicile several orns prior. It had been a small gathering of analogous minds in the Iacon area, most former Autobots, but one guest had been a neutral and another a Decepticon. Despite their past, most made no indication that there had ever been ill-feelings between their respective factions or lack thereof. It was a gathering of great thinkers and nothing more. In fact, Wheeljack found the former Decepticon to be a very engaging individual and had spent a long while discussing several theorems and algorithms with him. The former Decepticon had brought along his 'pet', a young human, to show the curious group. The Mech explained he had come across a trader while visiting associates in Kaon and found the little creatures intriguing and purchased one for scientific observation. So far, the venture proved disappointing, mostly due to the organic's complete ill regard for cooperation and tendency for its optics to leak, an apparent physical response to any anxiety or distress. Wheeljack was at a loss to determine the little human's gender for it was rather young and its follicle growths atop its head had been cut short, close to the scalp in a way that made aesthetic deciphering near impossible.

"To keep it clean," The Mech had explained. "Some grow it out long, but it is hard to manage and I cannot be bothered with grooming. Better to lob it all off and be damned with it."

"Does it not hurt them?" Wheeljack asked alarmed. He reminded himself that the Mech had been a Decepticon, so it shouldn't have been all that surprising to see such...vindictive tendencies.

The Mech waved the question off. "Oh, no. It is not live tissue; there are no damage receptors or the equivalent to such. It does not hurt them in the least."

At first glance, Wheeljack had labeled humans a primitive carbon based organism, nothing special aside from the fact it was the first example of bi-pedal organics Cybertronians had come across. However, after some discussion, he began to notice little things, through watching the small creature in the corner of his peripheral optical input and of what its owner spoke. The Mech had placed the tiny creature atop a table beside several data-pads they had been discussing. The human was covered in a strange grey organic material that covered most of its upper body and past its hips, draping around its knees. It seemed to ignore them, gazing at the pads instead.

"It's quite a gloomy little creature," The Mech confessed with a resigned tone. "Doesn't do much really. They're very jumpy things. Any noise louder then 6 treems startles it into a panic and it hides for half a breem, sometimes longer."

"Does it have language capabilities?" Wheeljack asked. The human was kneeling over the edge of a data pad, looking down into the screen at the blue interface. Wheeljack was careful not to look to obvious as he watched the human's inspection.

"Oh yes," the Mech replied, oblivious to Wheeljack's wavering concentration. "However, any attempts at communication that I make seem to confuse it."

The human's small hand reached out and it cautiously lowered it towards the data pad screen's surface. It gingerly touched the screen with one of its impossibly small fingers, quickly lifting it and looking down as if to see if it made some mark…which it barely did. Data-pads had very sensitive interface screens, making writing onto one much easier then the archaic Chip-readers which had not-so-very sensitive screens. Wheeljack had witness many a frustrated Mech destroy a perfectly functional Chip-reader because they pressed the writing utensil too hard too the screen in an over-exuberant attempt to write legibly.

The small, barely noticeable, mark seemed to enthrall the small human and it began to scribble on the pad earnestly, smiling as it did so. It scrolled its fingers, making depictions of things and adding several glyphs. Once it had covered a small corner of the pad, it moved down for more scribble space.

Its owner continued the discussion, completely unaware of his pet's endeavors. "In fact, I spoke to an associate in Tarn who had also purchased one and he mentioned that the human he had informed him that their species had many different languages and that the one which we are supplied with upon purchase is considered 'standard' but is not spoken by all. He knows and speaks the standard, but it is not his 'native' speech. I assume now that this little one is not fluent in the standard speech and such was the reason for its apparent confusion. I've been attempting to determine its native language, but so far it had proven difficult. The Kaon Trading Company does not keep such information, or if they do it is not available to the public. It's quite frustrating really."

Wheeljack tilted his head, bewildered at such concepts. "Different languages? Not just dialects, complete different languages?"

"Oh yes," The Mech replied, taking a sip from his high grade. "My associate and I have been considering having his human meet mine so that we might discern what language it does speak. I dare to hope that it may even speak its native language so I can inform it through translation that its behavior has been thoroughly unaccommodating."

Leaving the gathering, Wheeljack had dismissed the organics called Humans as nothing more then a curiosity, a commodity, but not a subject he was particularly interesting in pursuing.

It wasn't until he had been approached by Mirage two orns later that he began to have an inkling that there was more to Human then he previously gave credit. And his suspicion had been cemented the first day. The first human to which he had been introduced had been an adult male named Craig and it surprised the engineer and scientist greatly that the human was far more intelligent then he had expected. There were small things in their mannerisms that fascinated Wheeljack, especially in the way they interacted with one another. They were primitive in comparison to Cybertronains, yes, but most known species were. But for organics, Humans were infinitely more advanced and intelligent then any other specimens Cybertron had ever known.

He began to become more intrigued.

The most surprising observation Wheeljack had made however was when he and Perceptor had been introduced to the youngling, Rebecca—but was affectionately referred to as Becky. Impossibly tiny and observant, she was the epitome of new life; raw and vulnerable and impressionable. While Cybertronians were created with basic information programmed into their processors before they were brought online, humans were completely blank slates aside from the most basic instinct to feed. She could not even stand, let alone walk, on her own and was solely dependent on others to care for her until she learned. Becky reacted to seemingly mundane stimuli, most amusing of which had been Wheeljack's vocal indicators. Despite himself, he and Perceptor found that introducing various stimuli to the tiny human girl and causing her to laugh was not only an informative exercise, but was actually quite entertaining.

* * *

Brea ignored their expectant glances, turning her head and huffing. Their teasing had not been well met and she was determined to make her offense and indignation palpable. When Jazz had finally released his hold on her, she scooted off his thigh and planted herself across the fire pit from them, refusing to acknowledge their pleas for her to forgive them.

"I think we made her mad," Jazz said after his cheerful grin failed to prompt anything but a glare from her.

"Oh she'll get over it," Preston replied, unfazed as he laid back casually on the ground.

"I didn't even do anything," Wheeljack protested quietly. He had also tried to coax something from the female, which she had expertly ignored. Kimberly even attempted to get her to do or say anything other then ignore them, even going to far as to hold baby Becky in front of her and bobbing her up and down, making it look as though the little girl had suddenly been stricken with happy feet. Despite Brea's dedication to maintaining silence until someone made amends, that little display nearly broke her. Poor Becky looked just as affronted as she did, apparently not appreciating the forced dance lesson well before she had the ability to even stand.

"Don't be mad," Kimberly said, standing back up and readjusting Becky in her arms. Brea was beginning to find some morbid enjoyment from watching them squirm in uncomfortable silence.

"Would it help if we said we were sorry?" Jazz asked innocently. Brea didn't answer and tried very hard to keep her face placid. He reached out across the clearing to where she sat, his arm easily reaching over the fire pit. He gently prodded her shoulder with a finger, which she ignored.

"C'mon," Jazz pleaded, his metal plated face contorting into an expression that was definitively pouty.

She ignored him.

So he poked her again…and again…and again. And again. Irritation ignited into an aggravated series of slaps when Jazz's oversized finger swept in for another poke. "Stop poking me!"

Jazz just grinned. "C'mon, we said we're sorry."

"I didn't," Preston replied smugly from where he lay. Jazz looked down at him disapprovingly. Preston looked slightly sheepish and he shrugged. "What?"

"What do we gotta do to make you believe us?" Jazz asked. Brea was determined to not even answer, but a funny idea struck…and she couldn't resist.

"Stand on your head." Jazz's pitiful pouty face disappeared into a blank, uncomprehending stare.

"Huh?"

"Stand on your head and I'll forgive you," Brea said, trying not to sound too smug. Everything was silent until Preston started laughing.

"I'd like to see that!" He chuckled. Turning to the black and white Mech, Preston grinned, "Yeah, Jazz. Stand on your head. Let's see if you can."

Jazz was on his feet and he stared down at the man, who seemed impossibly small as he laid down next to a standing Mech, with mock offense. He huffed and straightened his back. "Of course I can!"

An hour later, Brea found herself huddled in the Pantry, wedged into a corner, hiding from a very irritated medic who had a thing or two to say to her about tempting Mechs to do idiotic stunts. As she sat there, she giggled unremorsefully and thought, _Note to self: Jazz can't do hand stands and trees make for bad fall breakers._

Leave it to Kimberly, who suddenly decided to forgo her demophobia and play the role of Puck, to rat her out. When Sideswipe heard of the incident (and after he'd gotten over the shock of Kimi actually speaking) he laughed and beamed at his ward, "That'a girl!"

Sitting a little ways away with Zoë perched on his shoulder, Bluestreak muttered, "I know Annie said young humans tend to imitate others' behaviors…but I don't think we need another Sideswipe around here."

A little ways to the side, Sean and Rodney snorted into their soup and Caleb had to receive several good smacks to the back in order to get him breathing again after he had all but inhaled his apple.


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Notes:** Damn Microsoft word! I had a glitch and my notes for this story were deleted from my flash drive! I think I have a back up at my work on my desktop, but all the updates I did to it are ka-poot. -Cries- Now I'm all depressed...this has happened before and I've always been able to restore it, but it got deleted from my flash drive! -Cries some more-

Aside from all that, I hope you all enjoy this! Please review!

* * *

Phase Nine: Lost in Translation

Chapter Twenty-three

Humans could suffer ill effects as a result from traumatic experiences. This simple fact had lead Perceptor down a multitude of thought paths and startling revelations. Most organics that Perceptor knew of hadn't displayed any awareness other then what their own instincts were telling them. Universal awareness was simply not attributed to organics; quite actually it was a general consensus among those who knew anything substantial about organics was that they were incapable of such complex thought. All examples they had pointed to a basic system of instinctual responses that melted down to the simplest form of cause and effect.

'It is cold, so therefore I go to where it is not cold'. A common reaction to negative stimuli, in this case the stimuli would be the cold; where as a human would go further and mingling in previously gathered observational data with instinctual thought patterns. 'It is cold and has been cold for a long time. Therefore I must devise a solution to the problem indefinitely.' The stimuli of cold, or the absence of adequate heat rather, lead the human race to develop something no Cybertronian has ever heard of: clothing. It had puzzled him greatly to see the first human he came in contact with to be covered in such fragile material. The purpose escaped him. It couldn't have been armor; it was far too weak.

Human were entirely self aware and observant. Once more they were capable of empathy; the act of being able to switch perspective and see thing from another individual's point of view. They could analyze situations from different angles, contemplate varying scenarios, and come to intelligent conclusions (as well as impossible conclusions and assumptions based off of nothing due to stress and anxiety; often referred to as Paranoia. Something that was not too uncommon amongst Cybertronians.). They could also lay plans out in advance, assume and anticipate, they understood the complexities of cause and effect and knew how to manipulate it to their advantage. Also they were able to think in a way that displayed tactical behavior. Such things were unheard of in organics. They were sentient and most astonishing of all they were amazingly similar to Cybertronians. Aside from obvious differences in make up and culture, of course. It was all terribly exciting.

He had been looking forward to returning to the human holding compound, or 'Sanctuary' as those in the facility called it, a somewhat supercilious pseudonym he thought. Jazz had been courteous enough to escort him seeing as Perceptor was not convinced that the humans, while friendly and all together quite harmless, would be too keen on a Mech they barely knew wandering unaccompanied into their territory and he did not wish to cause any unnecessary and avoidable stress. Jazz thought the notion was silly, but conceded the point and agreed to accompany him if only to have an excuse to skip out on his tactical duties. They chatted as they strolled down the halls towards the Sanctuary.

"Kimberly's the one who has the socialization issues. Brea's a kinda shy too, but she's startin' to come out of her shell," He grinned and rubbed his helm, "It just takes a little poking…and a little time for 'er to get use to you is all. She ain't had the best of experiences with Mechs…"

"Yes, Prime explained her situation to us," Perceptor replied solemnly. "She is very valuable to our case. More then she realizes I would guess."

"Best not to throw anything too big at her just yet. She's coming out and settling in fine, but Annie mentioned the kid's been having some…unpleasant recharges."

"How do you mean?"

"She called 'em 'night terrors'. I guess it's pretty common for humans, seeing as most of our bunch has had 'em," Jazz shrugged. "Anyway, Kimi's really the only one who might have a problem with new Mechs around, but I wouldn't worry too much. Poor kid's just been through a lot, more then she'll let on I bet. I've seen Mechs crack that remind me of her a little and the stuff they saw…" he gave a small shutter and shook his head, "It would make the most steadfast of us cringe. But really she's a lot better then when she was first brought here and Brea's been helpin' her a bit. They're a pair I tell you. I think Sides and Sunny might be getting' a bit jealous."

Jazz's laugh faded away into a stony silence. Perceptor looked out into space, seeming to eb lost in his own thoughts.

"I feel somewhat ashamed that they've suffered so much under us," Perceptor said quietly. "I do not think many Mechs are even aware they are sentient. Even more do not seem to be even aware of the Human presence."

"And a lot just don't care," Jazz added suddenly resentful. "All they care about is the energy and keeping the status quo just that."

"It will be a problem," Perceptor admitted. "I agree completely they deserve their freedom, Primus knows they are far more then entitled to it…but if what I understand of the situation has any basis in truth…then we cannot release Earth any time soon. It would doom us and such a thing will not help the humans. We must find a middle ground…a collaboration perhaps."

Jazz seemed to be restraining himself, searching for some tactful response. "It isn't like I'm disagreeing with ya…I just, well…It's not right. At all! To think every time I refuel…what had to happen for me to hold that cube…how many humans have died since the occupation do you think? How many cultures are lost forever because of us? I won't even touch high grade any more. Whenever I think about it…it just makes my CPU twitch."

"I understand," Perceptor replied with a gentle node. "Wheeljack and I have been discussing possible alternatives to Earth fuel, anything to help our case when we leave for the Citadel. Optimus agreed that we cannot condemn one method of energy collection and offer no alterative and still expect a satisfying outcome. Some avenues of thought we devised seem very promising, but the sheer _intuitive_ to implement them to the scale we would need to completely wean ourselves independent of Earth…we would have to convince the entire populous as well as the Senate. And even then, to actually place them into practice would require at least one tenth of a vorn of continuing the current occupation and withdrawal of Earth resources if only to fuel the reformation of Energy collection."

"I don't have the answers," Jazz admitted, "But I think you're going about it the right way. Right now, though, I think we have to make the problem known and clear to everyone. Too many Mechs have their processors wedged so far up their tailpipes that module in their neck is their CPU." Perceptor, always proper and polite, found his companion's analogy quite…vulgar if not discouragingly accurate. "I've been thinking how we could get the information out about all this. Maybe like a rally or information notice. Word of mouth even…"

"Well that report that aired on the Iacon news feed a few orns ago certainly helped things along. Kaon Trading dropped after the story aired," Perceptor added. "One of my associates went completely broke because of it and filed for Government assistance. And was denied. I believe he is working in Tarn as a records clerk."

"Can't say I'm all that sad to hear that," Jazz replied and paused. "I was actually wondering if we could get a reporter down here to do a story, but Prime shot it down. He wants this place to keep low key until he can work his magic around the big shots up at the Citadel. Swing some votes maybe."

A pause.

"Convince the leader and the masses will follow," Perceptor quoted rather sullenly. He never thought he'd ever use that quote.

"Like good little drones," Jazz added, fully aware of the origin of Perceptor's words and the significance behind them. Neither commented on it.

The walked in silence as they reached the entrance to the Sanctuary. Passing through the door and into the expansive and brightly lit room, a seemingly random idea struck Perceptor. "There is always the Academy."

"What about it?" Jazz asked, not following his train of thought.

"The Academy is full of young Mechs, many who are about to graduate and enter working society. I think it might prove wise to implement them with some form of empathy involving the Humans and other non-Cybertronian species. I wouldn't be surprised if half of them have never heard of them before. There are some brilliant minds there, I've spoken to a few, and they may be able to offer additional theories on our energy collection dispute."

"Well…we'd have to talk to the Headmaster about it," Jazz mused. "But I wouldn't be against it, but Prime probably will. I don't think he'd been too eager to let a bunch of younglings run amuck in here. Bluestreak's bad enough." He chortled affably at the last bit, it was all a jest.

"No, no, no," Perceptor laughed, "I meant to bring one or two of the humans there. Hold a seminar or special class and introduce the species to them. Let them ask questions and such."

Jazz's expression was thoughtful and then slowly leaked into a grin. "Say now…that's not a bad idea."

"I'm liable to them once in a while," The scientist conceded jovially. "Regardless of what Fixit claims..."

* * *

Fixit had called Perceptor the Universes greatest collection of useless knowledge. Brea and the other didn't know anything about that, but they did learn fairly early that he was certainly curious; sometimes shamelessly so. Jazz habitually accompanied Wheeljack or Perceptor whenever they visited and Bluestreak would show up occasionally while Mirage only made perhaps one or two trips. Apparently he was their sales-Mech, telling his friends and acquaintances or anyone who would listen of their cause, but secretively. Brea had no clue how such a thing would work. He was apparently well known and very well liked among people in Iacon who mattered and as Sea Watch explained the intricacies of lobbying, being of a prestigious lineage didn't hurt Mirage's endeavors either.

"Sunstreaker said that the Kaon elite don't like him," Brea mentioned.

Sea Watch chuckled and shook his head. "No, I doubt they would."

"What did he do exactly?" Brea asked. The Micromaster seemed to hesitate.

"Well…it's kind of a personal matter for him, understand. I don't think he'd appreciate me babbling his business to just anyone," he said. "You should ask him instead."

Brea hadn't had a chance to ask him as he seemed busy with his duties. Even then, Mirage struck her as a Mech who enjoyed his alone time. Sure he was very polite, but on the two occasions he'd visited, he seemed slightly…uncomfortable, as if he would have preferred a quiet conversation with one or two people rather then their large group. It made her sad. He was one of the biggest reasons why she was able to escape from Xeon's clutches…and to not be able to thank him properly or show him how much she appreciated it…well it was not a nice feeling. Ratchet made it down there at least once every two 'days' roughly and at least one of the Micromasters were almost always there to either help with whatever needed to be done or indulge in conversation. Apparently, Stakeout and Sean had some sort of thing going on because it did not seem as though any conversation could held with them present without them arguing. One altercation over the purpose and reliability of mood rings ended with Sean leaping at the Micromaster as if to tackle him. Stakeout, being at least two feet taller and a good deal bulkier, just grabbed the exuberant young man around the middle and held him above his head until he decided to 'lower his testosterone levels' and 'rethink his attempt at fighting an opponent he had no chance of winning against'. Sean got his revenge the next day when Ratchet saw the Micromaster finger shaped bruises on his sides.

While Prowl and Optimus had not been seen since Wheeljack and Perceptor had arrived, Fixit was sure to tell the humans of any updates or news regarding their case or Human activity in general. The group of Human arena fighters who had been taken into custody were being kept at a separate facility after Prime's request that they be transferred to his care was denied, pending an investigation. However, Optimus assigned one of his close friends to the staff at the facility and that way he was assured the humans would receive the care they required.

"It's ironic isn't it?" Craig had said.

"What is?" Annie asked.

"That we fought so hard to keep Lobbyists out of our politics back home and now we're counting on them to save our asses here." Brea had to laugh at that.

Today was a continuation of the endless interrogation of everything and anything human or Earth related. Perceptor had his data-pad and was scribbling away happily, seeming to transcribe everything they said…or at least the stuff he felt was important. Poor Wheeljack could barely get a question in edge wise, but managed to sneak in a few inquiries while Perceptor took a few moments to write out his notes.

"There is one thing I've been meaning to ask," Wheeljack said somewhat wistfully. They had been going at it for at least an hour and any formal seating or standing arrangement on the humans' parts had been abandon and they opted for lounging where and how it was most comfortable. Brea and Sean were sitting side by side against of the sheds while Brea braided Zoë's hair. Caleb and Rodney and Izzy had been wrangled into peeling, cutting, and preparing vegetables for dinner. The impromptu knives they used were sharpened pieces of metal that had been set into flat pieces of wood and glued together. Izzy of course was not given a knife, rather he was washing the vegetables in a bucket of water and handing them to either of the two brothers.

"And what would that be?" Annie asked.

"Well…" He seemed to hesitate, "Actually, it's something I wanted to show you."

Everyone's interest had waned somewhat, but at Wheeljack's words they all trained their sights on the engineer, eyes relit with curiosity. The Mech held his hand aloft in a way Brea recognized, after seeing it several times, as him pulling something from sub-space; it was a data-pad. He pressed the keys set into the frame and then sat it down for them to see. Annie stepped up, followed by Brea, Zoë, and Sean. Izzy scrambled up to see as well while Caleb and Rodney took their time.

On the data-pad was a complex series of Cybertronian glyphs, graphs, and various lines and strange diagrams. At first Brea wasn't sure what the Mech was getting at until she looked over to a corner and saw what could only be described as scribbles, the familiar yet simple letters a noticeable contrast to the agile and complex Cybertronian text. Mingled amongst them were crude doodles of things like the sun and some clouds, a tree, and a figure of a man, presumably, beside a smaller figure of a woman, or girl, holding hands.

No one said anything while they all took the image in and Brea bent down to look at a scroll of letters that spelled out what made out to be gibberish to her. "Wir…sin-sind nicht…allein…I think it's German."

"What does it say?" Wheeljack asked elatedly.

"Anyone sprechen sie deutsches?" Caleb asked with a grin as he came to stand along side her and several of the other chuckled.

Brea grinned and said, "Nein," prompting another round of chortles.

"It's says 'We are not alone'," Annie asnwered. The group collectively glanced at her and then back at the text as if trying to devine the translation from the foreign speech.

"You speak German?" Sean asked a little incredulously and the older woman nodded.

"Uh-huh. And French and Italian. I took Mandarin in college but I've forgotten a lot of it. A little Japanese too." Sean glanced over at his brothers with a look of sheer disbelief as if to say 'can you believe such a person exists? How can you fit all that in your head?!' and they laughed.

"What about Klingon?" Rodney challenged jokingly.

"Or Sindarin!" Added Caleb.

"Westron!" Sean called. Annie looked at the boys, clearly unamused, and told them as much.

"Those aren't real languages," She said with a shake of her head, which then prompted them to counter that there were more Trekkies and Tolkien-nuts that they out numbered some small Polynesian island cultures and therefore counted as a 'real language'.

"What about this?" Wheeljack asked, interrupting their banter and pointing to another set of scribbles of text farther up the data-pad and Annie walked over and peered down, staring at the words for a long moment and muttering under her breath. Finally she seemed to come to a revelation and she sat up a little straighter and looked pleasantly surprised.

"Oh, I see! I know what it is!" She said and bending down she read it aloud, "Finden sie etwas im schicksal zu lieben das ihnen gegeben worden ist und sich anzupassen." To the group's incomprehension, she said, "It's a quote from Marcus Aurelius."

"Who?" Wheeljack asked, also chorused by the three brothers and Brea. All these strange alien words were making his processor work double time and Wheeljack wondered it was possible to have a short circuit from listening to alien organic languages. Sensory overload perhaps?

"He was a Roman Emperor," She explained and turned to Sean who was the closest to her. "Caesar's dad…well, he was his adopted son, but still." They all made noises of understanding save for Wheeljack and Perceptor. Perceptor added another line of notes, scribbling away furiously, captivated at all that he was learning.

"I didn't know Caesar was adopted…" Brea muttered curiously to herself and Caleb glanced at her and smiled.

"What does it mean, though?" Wheeljack prompted, sounding eager now that he was receiving answers to his inquiry. By his reaction, it seemed the writings had occupied his curiosity for some time.

Annie pointed to the words as she translated, "_Adapt yourself to the things among which your lot has been cast and love sincerely the fellow creatures with whom destiny has ordained that you shall live_. That's the actual quote; they got it a little wrong here. They actually wrote more along the lines of saying 'find something to love in the destiny that has been given to you and adjust', but I'm paraphrasing a bit."

"So we have a quote, in German, from a Roman Emperor," Rodney asked, sounding close to a brain overload. "All written on an alien robot notebook…" he glanced around with an arched eye brow, "Anyone else confused as 'ell?"

"Yeah," Annie agreed, somewhat suspiciously, and looked up at Wheeljack, "Where _did_ you find this?"

"I was at a social gathering and one of the attendees had a human pet with him," At the word 'pet' Wheeljack noted the eyes of the human legion gathered around him turned cold, but he continued on as if he hadn't noticed, "I couldn't tell whether it was male or female, I had intended to ask but forgot. I had several Data-pads lying around and it just started writing on them. It was a fairly young one, easily older then Zoë, but younger then either Kimberly or Brea I think. It was shorter and it's body ratios were smaller."

"From this," Annie gestured to the drawing of the man and girl, "I think we can say it was a girl. See this right here?" She pointed to another word, just under the man, "It says _männlich_, which means 'Father'. And here," she pointed to the girl figure and the corresponding words under, "It says Adelisa."

"What does that mean?" Wheeljack asked.

"It's a name," Annie replied with an amused smile.

"Oh."

"What happened to her do you think?" Brea asked and she noticed the slight drop in the engineer's shoulders.

"Truthfully?" He said, "I don't know."

"Well could you get in contact with the guy who was keeping her?" Annie asked, going down the same thought patterns as Brea. "And find out?"

"I don't see why I shouldn't," He admitted, also seeming to catch on. "I don't know if he'd be willing to free her though…from my talks with him I do not think he considers humans to be sentient."

"That's no excuse not to try," Brea argued with a little more force then she meant to convey.

Wheeljack glanced at her in surprised at the vicious bite in her voice. Brea noticed the Mech's slightly stunned look and turned away, sheepish, and muttered a quick, "…sorry."

* * *

Author's Notes: Westron and Sindarin are languages spoken in Middle Earth in the Lord of the Rings books.

-cries because she is still upset over her notes being deleted-

So...many notes...gone...so much work...


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Notes:** Oh...Well this is a tad late isn't it? Tee-hee. Ah well I had some tweeking to do. Couldn't be helped. I hit a snag whille writing this chapter and it wasn't finished until yesterday. So there's my excuse...and I'm stickin' to it!

* * *

Phase Nine: Lost in Translation

Chapter Twenty-four

* * *

A cacophonous "_Huh_?" sounded as the collective group of humans looked at the Mech as though he was crazy...or at least had several chief wires crossed.

Perceptor stood before them, optics positively aglow with obvious enthusiasm for the purposed endeavor. Of all of them, Annie looked the most skeptical as she softly lulled Becky back to the peaceful snooze that the cynical outburst had disturbed.

"Does Optimus know anything about this?" She asked.

"Of course! I have laid out the proposal to Optimus Prime," Perceptor replied with a nod, "And he felt the plan had merit and has given his approval, but only under strict guidelines."

The humans glanced at one another, attempting to gage each other's thoughts from mere expressions, however it seemed as though they all were as skeptical as the next.

"Wait, wait, wait," Craig said, motion his hands in a halting gesture, "You mean…you guys have schools?"

Standing beside Perceptor was Wheeljack, Jazz, and Bluestreak and the four of them glanced quickly at one another in mild incredulity before softly chuckling.

"Of course we do!" Wheeljack replied. "The Iacon Academy's the most prestigious institution on Cybertron."

"Depending on who you ask," Bluestreak added.

"Oh, the Tarn Conservatory's is all talk. We have the merits to prove it," Wheeljack replied with a dismissive wave. Bluestreak looked as though he were about to retort when Perceptor made a strange noise, supposedly the equivalent to a Mech clearing their throat, to glean their attention.

"If we could continue with the subject at hand…?" He asked politely though it was plain to see that he was slightly piqued at the conversation steering off on a tangent.

"So…I don't understand what you're getting at," Brea remarked, in effect redirecting the conversation back onto course. "You…want us to go to school?"

The Mechs all chuckled. "Essentially yes, but not to attend as a student," Perceptor assured quickly, "But rather as a teacher of sorts. It is collectively agreed that if we were to, for all intents and purposes, introduce the Human species to our young populous it could better suit us in the long run. There is a class readying to graduate within a number of orns and will soon have a credible say in politics as well as gaining the license to vote for public office. Should we endow them with a form of empathy for Humans and organics in general, I feel we may have a far greater advantage then should we ignore this possible demographic. The greatest benefit that I see in speaking to the younger generation is that most if not all, are not ingrained with a sense of prejudice concerning organics as they older generations are."

"So…you want us to go and persuade these kids to feel sorry for us?" Craig asked frankly.

"Well…" Perceptor replied in passable assent. "I would not choose such vocabulary as to insinuate that we wish to instate sympathy, in preference to empathy."

"We want them to understand our situation rather then just feeling sorry for us," Brea interpreted with a nod from Perceptor.

"Precisely!" He said. "They need to view you as 'who's' not 'whats'."

"But what about keeping this place a secret?" Caleb asked. "I thought we were all underground 'till the trial. Wasn't that like the number one rule?"

"Ah, but that's the beauty of it, Ceb!" Jazz interjected with a grin. "No one's gonna know 'bout this place just 'cause a couple of ya make a somewhat public appearance. You ain't the only humans in Iacon y'know."

"But who would go?" Brea asked and a disquieted feeling crept over her as Perceptor looked towards her, optics directed squarely at her. Already she knew the answer to her own question…but she hoped.

"In truth, Brea, I was most keen on your participation," He said. Brea felt her insides seize and a voice rang out clear in her head, _'No fucking way!' _But she tried to keep her face as neutral as possible and not betray anything. He continued, "Your ability to understand and speak Cybertronian would be something I feel could be a great asset and might better our chances in persuading the young Mechs."

Brea was more then skeptical as her mind began to race. Never had she even considered leaving the Sanctuary, unless it was to go back home to Earth. Her stomach churned and she felt a little light headed. Oh dear god, she wasn't going to faint was she? Just what she needed…to faint…right in front of Caleb and everyone. Yeah, that would go down spectacularly! "Uh…I don't think that's such a great idea...see…I'm kind of on a hit list and…"

Perceptor surprised her when his mouth twitched into a small smile, "I am aware that Emirate Xeon has sought your life," He replied kindly, "But he wouldn't dare try anything if you were to go to the Academy. Presupposing that he knew for a fact that you are alive and that you would indeed be there, such an action could bee interpreted as solidifying his guilt in the upcoming trial. His entire estate, everything he has accomplished and then some, is at risk. He would be a fool to jeopardize it for petty revenge. And I do not feel I am out of line when I say that Xeon may be a scoundrel, but he is by no means a fool. He won't try anything."

She wasn't convinced and it appeared as though they could plainly see that because Jazz suddenly cut in. "It ain't like you'll be wandering around all by your lonesome neither. If anyone tries to mess with ya, there'll be Mechs there to kick 'im off."

She didn't smile, her mind was far to busy running circles around completely illogical scenarios.

Perceptor suddenly crouched down close to her, causing Brea to flinch. She looked up into the Mech's face, slightly disquieted by the intense expression. "Brea, please," he said softly, "I know you have little reason to trust me, and Primus knows your apprehension is far more then adequately founded, but I implore you to consider this proposal. What we are trying to accomplish is for the greater good for your people and I swear to you I will do all in my power to ensure your safety."

She bit her lip and she didn't say anything for a long moment. She wanted to refuse, politely of course, but for some nameless reason her mouth would not move when her brain told it to. She was aware of the expectant looks from those massed around her and it did not seem to help her current bout of 'Tongue-tied-ness'.

* * *

It was relatively quiet in the clearing near the pantry, save for the occasional light chatter or the playful giggle of a baby.

Brea was lost amongst the torrent of her own thoughts when Fixit came up along side her and sat down, holding what looked to be one of the foil-blankets tucked under his arm. A little ways off, Stakeout and Sea Watch were playing with Becky, entertaining her with a metal sphere that rattled when shaken. The older humans were off working in the garden, or sleeping, or some other nameless activity. Sea Watch, it seemed, was one of the Micromasters who had an intense fascination with Becky and was always willing to watch her if need be; playing with her and teaching her things that Brea was moderately convinced were far too advanced for an infant. And despite Annie's instances that she was far too young to do so, he was also liable to try and coax her to standing or to even attempt at walking. As futile as it seemed, it was very endearing.

Brea barely registered Fixit's presence.

"So you're going?" He asked, genuinely surprised as he handed her the folded piece of the foil-cloth. Brea's mind was still entirely somewhere else and she gave him a weak smile, accepting it without much thought. "Yeah…me and Craig."

Fixit smiled fondly at her. "You don't sound too happy."

"No, well yes, but it's not what you think…my head's just somewhere else," She replied absently, until she saw the Mech's face contort into slight alarm. She smiled. "It's just an expression. It means I'm busy thinking."

"Ah," He said. "So how did Perceptor convince you to go?"

Brea sighed and let her head flop down in a sign of resignation, which was all the elaboration she was willing to give. Fixit laughed and patted her on the shoulder, speaking to her jovially. "You'll do fine. Besides, if Craig's gonna be there too, you got nothing to be scared of. He'll watch out for you. They all will."

Brea nodded, mumbling noncommittally. She looked down at the folds of foil-cloth, seeming to notice it for the first time, and held it out in front of her. The excess cloth dropped away and Brea blinked at what the foil material had been fashioned up into. She turned her eyes over to Fixit. "Uh…what is this?"

He shrugged. "I think Annie called it a _jak-ett_."

Brea looked at him strangely and then, understanding, she broke out into a smile. "Oh. A jacket, you mean." A pause. "Wait, why do I need a jacket?"

"Not just you, Craig too. To keep your internal body temperature stabilized. The air outside is too low to for your own systems to cope and we don't need either of you getting hypothermia or anything like that. Perceptor will probably have the maintenance staff at the Academy turn up the heat in whatever room you're seminars will be held, but these are for 'just in case'."

"Oh…ok." Brea took a long look at the shiny material and scrunched her nose, muttering. "I'm gonna look like a bag of leftovers in this thing…"

"Practicality before style, small one," He told her, looking decidedly smug. She scrunched her nose up, sticking out her tongue at him, and flung the foil-coat over his head.

"Hey!" He cried as he reached up to tug it off. He looked down at Brea with an unamused frown, a contrast to Brea's smug grin. He reached out and poked her in the side, causing Brea to flinch away with a squeak. "Ah! Stop that!"

"What?" Fixit asked, smirking at the odd reaction. "You mean this?" He poked her again and Brea scooted away from him, biting back a laugh.

"Yes that!" She said, trying to sound angry. Fixit leaned over and reached out as if to grab her, but Brea scooted away, keeping his at bay with her foot. Fixit merely grabbed her ankle, his hand large enough that his fingers completely encased it, and pulled her back towards him. Brea squealed and tried to escape as soon as he let go of her ankle, but the Mech's hands shot out and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her up and setting her down in his lap. She squirmed against his grip, starting to get irritated…when his fingers wiggled into her stomach. She doubled over in an attempt to shield herself, giggling through her indignation. "Stop! I said-_ah_! _Please_! Stop it!"

Fixit mercifully stopped and Brea was allowed a moment to breathe. She looked up towards Fixit, intending to reprimand him, when he tossed the foil-coat over her head. "Hey!"

* * *

Everything had been set up. Perceptor and Bluestreak had been designated as Brea and Craig's chaperones for the outing and Annie had made sure Brea had washed the 'night' before. She attempted to do the same with Craig, but with less then successful results. Brea laid her head on her sleeping pad, mind all a-jumble with the next day's activities. She was a little more then nervous.

The 'morning' they were to set off, Brea was nudged awake by Craig. Groaning, she mashed her face into the sleeping pad, trying to ignore him. The man's deep chuckle was barely registered as she tried to drift back off. Brea jumped back to awareness when she was gripped by the shoulders and nudged again, none too softly. "C'mon, kiddo. Time for school." Had she gotten any adequate sleep, Brea might have found his words amusing, even a little comforting. However, in the aftermath of a less-then-successful attempt at a rejuvenating slumber, she wasn't feeling up to jests.

What proceeded was a very accurate re-enactment of the scene from Home Alone as the McCallisters ran about the house and hurried to pack everything and get ready to depart on their vacation. The scene in the Sanctuary was very much the same, excluding the house; people were scurrying about trying to get everything done and sorted out, yelling if anyone remembered where they stored what and if there was any of this or that left. The Micromasters had been lassoed into helping Annie pack the food and supplies into a large metal storage bin that would be taken with them to the Academy. When Brea mentioned the parallels of the situation, all three of the brothers put down their loads and clapped their hands to their faces, yelling 'Ahhhh!' in mockery.

The Micromasters paused, looking at the snickering humans with confusion and alarm. "What's wrong?" Sea Watched asked Sean as he past him with his load. The boy merely shrugged, "Nothing."

Ratchet came down as things were beginning to fall into place and some form of organization was reached; Perceptor, Jazz, Bluestreak, and Wheeljack soon after. He went over some guidelines with Perceptor and Bluestreak (mostly directed at the former) as well as some rules in case of emergencies, listing out situations and what he was to do in such cases…which essentially boiled down to 'get them the frag out of there'.

"If either of them does not feel comfortable with the situation or if those green-wired sparklings get too loud or rowdy," The medic admonished to the scientist, "You get them out of there so fast you better be leaving scorch marks."

Bluestreak nodded earnestly and Perceptor gave a curt tip of his head, seeming to have already gone through such a briefing. After the medic was done with them, he turned to Brea and Craig, expression sour. It was clear he was dubious about the whole arrangement.

"It's been set up with the Headmaster that this visit will last half an Orn with seminars being held every two joors, with each one lasting half a joor. That'll give you enough time in between to rest and such. You should be fine as far as that is concerned. Like I told these two, if you get scared or feel threatened or anything in any way, just give them the word. Are we clear?"

"Yes sir," Craig replied. Brea nodded. Ratchet focused in on her for a moment.

"Prowl has also wanted me to impart caution to you on his and Optimus' behalf. Especially you Brea, as you are more compatible in communications. You need to be extremely careful what you say regarding the trial and your experiences that could hinder our case. If you don't know or don't want to answer a question, don't. You're not there to be interrogated."

Brea nodded again. "Ok."

"And no mentioning of names either." The Medic added. "We don't know those green-wires' loyalties lay so it's best to be careful. Even amongst the staff."

"We understand," Craig replied, wrapping an arm around Brea's shoulders. "We'll be careful."

* * *

Brea felt absolutely humiliated in the foil-coat-jacket-thing and whenever she moves it crinkled faintly, but sounded like a cacophony to her and she made an effort not to move. While Craig look just as ridiculous, he seemed far less self-conscious of just how much so he did. But Brea was all too aware and she was very uncomfortable. Not the greatest state to start gallivanting off in…

Perceptor held both her and Craig cupped in his hands while Bluestreak carried the bin containing the supplies, following behind them. The trip up from the Sanctuary and through the halls was very uneventful and awkwardly quiet. They came up to a large door, bolted closed, with a security kiosk to the side. Perceptor muttered a quick apology and then set the two humans down. Stepping up to the kiosk, he performed the same act as Jazz had when he first took Brea down to the inner compound. The kiosk blinked and the doors slid away with a great hiss of pressure and cold air swept inside accompanied by the powerful sense of motion. As the doors slipped into the walls, leaving a clear path for them, Brea momentarily forgot her fashion woes and apprehensions.

Impossibly tall buildings stretched up to the sky like grasping fingers, walkways twisting around them at astounding heights with no visible supports. Lights danced from every sign and Markey, glowing characters of the Cybertronian script blinking down at them. Brea was instantly reminded of Times Square, but the visage didn't quite fit. For one thing…Iacon appeared to be a very clean city. Unlike Kaon, whose ground level streets had been littered with war refuse and leftovers, Iacon's floor level was clear and pristine. Metal walkways snaked around the base of buildings and towards entrances to the structures. The architecture wasn't anything like what was to be found in Kaon either, which was generally harsh and bold and…pointy. Theses buildings all around them now were tall and smooth and regal looking; gentle even.

Brea gawked as she looked up and up and up…the towers seemed to go on forever! She wobbled on her feet and Craig caught her before she could tip back into an ungraceful meeting of butt and floor.

His eyes trailed upwards as he steadied her. "…holy shit," Craig breathed in amazement. Brea nodded slowly, transfixed by it all. "It's beautiful."

"Thank you," Perceptor said as he bent down to scoop them back up, a pleased smile in his voice, "We're all quite proud of it."

"Just wait till you see the Academy!" Bluestreak added with an eager smile beaming on his face.

"How are we getting there?" Brea asked, suddenly feeling a twinge of excitement. Perceptor turned to his left as way of an answer. Parked beside the compound was what looked to be a space ship…maybe a little smaller? Brea instantly recognized it as a personal transport vehicle, AKA a Cybertronian car, like the ones she use to watch zip around the Kaon skyline from Xeon's window.

She beamed. "Awesome!"

* * *

Yay for tacky foil jackets! Michael Kors eat your heart out. But not really...you're my favorite judge on Project Runway and your purses are adorable! And if you haven't watched that show, you need to. It's on Bravo and it's _fab-u-lous_! My fav designer this season is Suade. He's such a sweetheart. I just wanna hug him! My fav of all seasns is Chris. Yay for drag queens! Even though I liked Christian's work (he was the winner last season)...and his hair. Oh man, he pulls off porcupine like no one else! It's fierce! a cookie to anyone who gets that reference. Oh! And Halla at cha' boi! another cookie who knows that one as well.

Tim Gunn, if you weren't gay I'd ask you to marry me. XD


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's notes:** Now before you all kill me, let me explain why this chapter is a _bit_ late. To be blunt, I was hit with the mother of all writer's blocks. Now those of you who are as into writing as me, you will know what kind I mean. The kind that cripple you to a stop and make you wanna bang your head against something hard and made of concrete. Now I have this story planned out pretty thoroughly, but whenever I try to write...it's like my mind turns to goo and no matter what I write feels forced and terrible and there is no way I'm gonna post that stuff. So there's my exlanation. If anyone has any ideas on how to break a writer's blocks, please share. Because this suck...

* * *

Phase Twelve: Saved by the Bell

Chapter Twenty-five

* * *

"Brea you might want to sit back down, it's not safe for you to be up there," Perceptor's voice drifted through the cabin, but she wasn't listening. She was kneeling on the narrow ledge lining the bottom of a window, smushing her face as close to the glass as she could in an attempt to see the city as it passed below them. Their craft flew high above the ground floor, but even from their height she could easily see the walkways interlacing through the city and buildings. Mechs and femmes walked along the pathways; talking, walking, running, laughing… behaving very normally…very humanly. It was startling and invigorating all at once. She felt absolutely giddy and was suddenly very glad she decided to come. Blow the ledge where Brea was kneeling, Craig was making himself comfortable on the corresponding chair—or in as much s he could given it was made of metal. He'd commandeered Brea's foil-coat as well as his own and was using them as a cushion and was now quietly snoozing. Beside their chair was an empty one with space enough between them for a Mech to walk. Ahead near the controls, Perceptor and Bluestreak sat, the older Mech being in control of the craft. Bluestreak twisted in his seat to watch the two humans, especially Brea, and would do so every minute or so. He saw her on the window ledge and he called for her to sit down as well.

When she made no motion that she had heard him or Perceptor, he got up from his seat and walked over to the window. He tapped her lightly in the shoulder. Brea turned around with a start, having been so engrossed in her window-watching she seemed to have blocked out all of her surroundings. Her start turned into a squeak as she lost her footing and slipped off the ledge, with Bluestreak having barely enough time to snatch her up before she hit the metal chair.

"See?" He admonished her, "We told you to get down."

"You scared me," Brea replied, confused as to why he was using such a tone. What did she do?

Instead of setting her down next to Craig, he took Brea up to the front with him, setting her on his thigh. "How far is it?" She asked, looking to Perceptor.

It was odd and slightly comedic to see a Mech seated in a large metal chair and holding onto a steering wheel as if driving a car; seeing the mundane in an extremely bizarre situation. Brea felt the need to restrain herself from giggling inappropriately.

"Not too far, three breams or so," Perceptor replied, never taking his optics off the road. Such a diligent driver he was. Brea turned her attention to the controls stretching across what she assumed would be considered the 'dashboard' of the vehicle. There knobs and buttons and dials and switches of every fashion imaginable along with the steering wheel, a couple levers, and a screen with a set of key controls below it. They blinked and glowed and flickered and Brea found herself easily distracted by them.

"What does that do?" Brea asked, pointing to a lever close to Perceptor's hand.

"It controls deceleration, for when we land." The scientist replied, still without looking away from the 'not road'. Whether he was just flying around at his discretion or there was some invisible marking or whatnot, she wasn't sure, but it seemed like he knew what he was doing.

"And that?" She pointed to another lever.

"Landing gear."

"What's that?"

"Turn signal."

"Oh." A pause. "And that?"

"I…am not sure."

Brea nodded and looked towards the little screen and keypad. "What's that screen for?"

"Autopilot controls," Perceptor replied. Brea lit up.

"Oh, neat! Lemme see," Brea said, getting to her feet and walking carefully across Bluestreak's thigh. The Mech's hands rose up on either side of her as if to steady her should she loose her balance and fall. Brea hopped off of his thigh and onto the raised median between the driver and passenger seats, striding up to get a better look at the screen and keypad. A collective of strange graphs and diagrams were splayed on the screen with the distinct letters of Cybertronian script. "How does it work?"

She wasn't sure if Perceptor was somehow becoming irritated with her questions or something else entirely, but Bluestreak hastily answered her, "Oh, you just type in the address to wherever you want to go or you can press this button," he pointed to a long button at the top of the keypad, "And say where it is you want to go and the auto-pilot will take you there."

"Really? Neat."

"Yeah it's pretty useful if you don't know where something— No, don't touch it!"

* * *

Brea was admonishingly returned to the back seat where she spent the rest of the trip next to Craig who continued on with his nap, dozing away without a care. She continued to send hopeful yet apologetic glanced back up towards the front of the craft, but neither Mech took notice of her. Her stomach churned with remorse.

Perceptor and Bluestreak had been close to near panic when she tried to touch one of the buttons on the auto-pilot's keypad, with Bluestreak snatching her up and holding her away from the controls as if her mere presence would send the whole array into meltdown and send them crashing to their deaths.

Feeling as if she were five years old again and having been unceremoniously dumped into Time Out, she sat quietly and mopped. Hopeful that the silence would dissipate any irritation she'd generated from her lack of forethought, she continued to remain that way while still glancing up hopefully.

"I said I was sorry…" She mumbled pitifully after several minutes of stifling silence, still feeling guilty.

For a second there was no answer.

"It's quite alright," Perceptor told her, though his tone revealed his lingering resentment of her actions. Their reactions were well enough to tell her she had done something very, very…very stupid. "At least you know not to do something like that again, right?"

She nodded, "Yes sir."

Glancing back at her, Bluestreak sent her a small smile, but didn't say anything. Craig woke about ten minutes later to a quiet cabin, thoroughly unaware of prior events and everything was quiet for five or so when Perceptor announced they were almost there.

"The Iacon Academy is just beyond these buildings," He said. Not wishing to incur anymore of their chaperones' annoyance, Brea stayed where she was and ignored the desire to climb back onto the narrow window ledge and peer outwards. Craig however had no such qualms and swiftly rose to his feet and walked over, being tall enough to be able to actually see outside without having to climb up on the ledge.

"That's a school!?" Craig blurted a moment later of gawking. "It's a fortress!"

Curiosity piqued, Brea motioned to rise to her feet, but looked with caution up at the backs of Bluestreak and Perceptor's chairs as if seeking permission; neither of them were paying the two humans any mind. Brea got to her feet and rushed to the window, hoping to see the 'fortress' for herself and Craig oblingingly stepped aside to allow her room to see. She was able to see the tops of towers and what looked like parapets, but not much else. What she did manage to peak at was more then enough for her to realize how big the academy must be. And then the craft turned…away from the school.

"Where are we going?" Brea asked, confused.

Bluestreak turned around towards them, "We have to land first."

Brea blinked. "Oh…right."

He chuckled. "There's a walk way from the landing pad and the garage, then there's a guard who let's you in the building."

"But we'll be taking the staff entrance in order to maintain a low profile," Perceptor replied. "Prowl had placed in a request for an escort as well."

"Oh, we're using the Tram?" Bluestreak asked, glancing at the scientist. "I've only been on it once...well I've been in it lost of times except it was just the tunnel back then, there weren't any cars or tracks. I never went to the Academy actually; I wasn't around when it was a school then and when the war ended there wasn't really a reason to go. But we used the main building as our head quarters during the war. That's why it looks like a fortress. We built it up and everything over the vorns."

It was hard to imagine the war that everyone spoke so often of and even more difficult was attempting to see them in such situations. Looking at them and speaking with them, Brea would never have guessed they were war veterans. Especially Bluestreak, she couldn't imagine him with a gun…no, wait. She could.

He did shoot Swindle did he not? Twice! And saved her in the process, but it was true she did not actually see him do it. She could imagine Prowl in battle easily enough and even the twins…but Jazz and Ratchet? Sure the medic had a mean throwing arm, but could he ever take a life like a soldier? He of anyone, she supposed, seemed the most world-worn. What about the Micromasters? If the war they fought in was so terrible, how could they seem so cheerful? Did Mechs' suffer from shell shock or PTSD like people? If so, she never saw it. In fact, looking at herself and the other humans…she felt sort of frail.

How weak humans must seem to them, she wondered. She felt slightly ashamed at the thought and then a sense of invigoration took its place. No, she wasn't going to think like that…not anymore. No. Brea rallied herself. It was like Fixit was always telling her, she had to look on the bright side and look for another way…there was no use in wallowing in doubt and self pity. And this was her way! The more she thought about it, the more she began to feel a growing encouragement, like a swelling of energy in her belly. Of all the humans on Cybertron she was likely the only one who could speak Cybertronian, she could do something no one else could. Excitement began to crawl through her, running down her arms and into her hands, causing a faint tingle at the tips of her fingers.

A hand clasped her shoulder broke away her thoughts and Brea jumped. She turned and saw Craig looking at her. "Are you alright?" He asked.

Brea nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking…" she said, adding with a giggle, "Too much maybe."

Craig nodded, humming noncommittally.

The craft rocked slightly, jolting the pair. Craig grabbed her arm and quickly pulled her down onto the seat to better center themselves, least another rock of the craft send them flying off their seat. Perceptor called back to them, "You two alright?"

"We're fine," Craig answered.

"Don't worry, just hold onto something," he advised.

"What was that?" Brea asked, holding onto Craig's arm for anchorage.

"Another craft's landing and the thrust from their engines blew us around a little, but don't worry. Perceptor's a good pilot." Brea couldn't help but notice Bluestreak's hands clamp onto his chair's armrests, though.

A minute or so later, and much rocking, the craft was safely landed. Expecting to depart from there, Brea was stymied when Bluestreak instructed her to remain seated. Then their little ship began to roll forward. Ignoring Bluestreak's instructions, Brea hoisted her upper half onto the window ledge, allowing the rest of her to dangle, in order to see outside. Perceptor drove it through what appeared to be some sort of parking garage and she and Craig seemed to have had the same thought and they exchanged glances, both trying to suppress their amusement. She couldn't help but notice all the other crafts they passed were larger and looked much more…fancy then their humble little transport.

When their craft was finally parked, Perceptor told them to put on their foil-coats. With a groan, Brea reached for hers, which had been thoroughly squashed with it having been recently used as an impromptu cushion. Thankfully, Craig was a mature adult and not Sean or Rodney, and therefore she wasn't subjected to unnecessary teasing. Her tune, however, changed when the door was opened and a wave of cold air swept in. Her face and legs stung with chill and she wrapped her arms around herself, willing heat to go to her legs. Perceptor scooped them both up while Bluestreak fetched their supplies. Curling into a ball, Brea pulled the bottom of her coat over her legs.

Noticing this, Perceptor smiled down at her. "I suppose you aren't so resentful of those thermal insulators anymore?"

Brea shook her head and huddled closer to the Mech's body.

* * *

Thankfully the inside of the Tram wasn't as cold as it was outside. It was still cooler then she would have liked, but Brea didn't feel the need to huddle in a ball any longer, although she kept the foil-coat on and appreciated the extra warmth. The Tram was essentially a short subway, short in the semse that it did not go very far. Used by staff and guests, it ran from the parking garage to the school, and from there they were to meet their escort. Then they were to be taken to the room where they would be housed throughout the duration of their visit. Brea was beginning to feel excited, but not without her usual apprehensions. She knew not the number of young Mechs (and femmes?) they would be meeting when the ball got rolling and the thought of being surrounded by so many staring faces made her a little dizzy.

Upon entering one of the Tram's empty cars, Perceptor gently placed both humans onto a seat before taking up the one beside it with Bluestreak occupying the one on the other side, effectively sandwiching the two humans between them. There was not anyone else inside the same car as them, although the one ahead of them seemed to be quite full. While they were waiting for the Tram to arrive, Perceptor and Bluestreak had stood to the side and away from the other Mechs who gathered at the loading station, as if to shield them from sight, but Brea could still see the hovering crowd. She had glanced round the throng ahead of them, studying the beings that, despite being surrounded by them for so long, still seemed utterly alien when she stared long enough. And long enough she must have for after a moment of staring at a brown and silver Mech closest to them, he randomly looked their way and locked sights with her. She felt her heart freeze in her chest, but eased a little when the Mech smiled warmly at her. His gaze flickered up to Perceptor and Bluestreak, who had noticed the Mech too, and gave them a courteous nod which they returned. The Tram arrived not a minute later and the crowd filed into the first two cars, leaving the third void and empty. So their party opted for the third.

"Who's our escort?" Bluestreak asked as he leaned back into his chair. The Trams doors closed with a hiss and the car began to move along its tracks. Perceptor glanced idly out the window directly behind him, the docking station disappearing as the Tram entered the tunnel, before answering.

"His name is Brainstorm," Perceptor replied. "I believe he was part of Chromedome's squad during the war. I've only met him a few times. Brilliant mind. Very nice."

The car was enveloped in darkness for a moment before the lights kicked on, a line of them dotting the ceiling all the way down the length of the car. Bluestreak nodded, not seeming to notice the light change. "When's the first seminar?"

"In half a joor. We'll have enough time to set everything up before then. I sent the thermal and atmospheric specs to the maintenance department ahead of us so they should be comfortable."

"How long are we staying here again?" Brea asked. She already knew, but felt the need to fill the dim and empty space with idly conversation so she played forgetful. The muted light gave the car an ominous atmosphere that was beginning to ebb her earlier anticipation.

"Half an orn, not too long," Perceptor replied in a tone that sounded as if to reassure her.

"So about…" She counted on her fingers. "Six days?"

"Six and a half," Perceptor replied idly. He glanced down at her and a faint smile turned his lips. "Nervous?"

"A little," she said meekly. Reaching out for her hand, Craig sent her a smile and gently squeezed. "You'll do fine," he said. "Just remember what Ratchet said."

Brea nodded, the enthralling invigoration churning in her stomach and morphing into anxiety. "Right…what did he say again?"

Craig laughed lightly, shaking his head and giving her hand another gentle squeeze. "We don't have to answer any questions we don't feel comfortable enough to answer and if we get scared or want to leave for any reason, we just got to let one of these guys know."

She nodded. Right, she remembered him saying something like that. "And no talking about the trial…no names."

Craig nodded. "Right. S'you're gonna be OK?"

She nodded, despite her heart leaping into her throat as the Tram began to slow and light from the loading station filtering into their car. The Tram dawdled down to a crawl, easing into a smooth stop and the doors opened.

* * *

**Author's notes part 2:** Now while I bang my head against this wall trying to dislodge whatever's stuck, how about a review, huh?


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's notes:** Please don't kill me for the lateness of this or that is a bit shorter then previous installments.

EDIT: Sorry for the typos. ^^;

* * *

Phase Twelve: Saved by the Bell

Chapter Twenty-Six

* * *

Brea's fear was momentarily forgotten upon entering the busting melee that was the Iacon Academy's main lobby. Her expectations of their visit had produced so many different images, but artistic was never one of them. The lobby, so far as she could tell and like much of everything on Cybertron, was made of metal, but the colors! The floor was like a giant mosaic, made of small squares of metal of every color imaginable pieced together and that then trailed all the way through the long entry way to the long circular desk that appeared to be the receptionist area. Several Mechs were dawdling around behind the counter on computers or speaking with other presumptive visitors.

Their entrance to the lobby was thoroughly unnoticed by those around them, something Brea was curious, but not all together sorrowful to see. She was certain should they be pointed out and surrounded by curious onlookers, she would have a heart attack. To keep her mind away from such things, she turned her attention back to the architecture. The ceiling was a large dome with ornate geometric patterns that reminded her somehow of the algebra II graphs sheets she had often been assigned that when completed, created a pattern on the page. As she stared up at it, Brea was unexpectedly reminded of the Sistine Chapel, needing to only replace the complex geometric patterns with naked people and cherubs to complete the impression.

"This place is amazing…"

Brea turned to look at Craig to see that he was not immune the room's impression.

"It kind of looks like the Sistine chapel," added Brea. Craig looked up as if to compare the mental image and a broad smile graced his face and a breathy laugh escaped him.

"Ha! It does, doesn't it?"

"This lobby was designed and built by Grapple, widely considered Iacon's greatest architect," Perceptor informed them. The scientist led the way through the lobby towards a small circular alcove where he took a seat on a, comparatively, small polished black metal bench. Bluestreak then occupied the one beside it. "And a very good friend of mine."

"Yeah, during the war, this is where we use to hold a lot of meetings and Grapple was always complaining about how gloomy it looked in here, so when the war ended and the school was being refurbished and repaired, he volunteered to do the lobby," Bluestreak explained. "Took him forever and ended up delaying the school's reopening by at least eleven orns. Got a lot of folks mad but they shut up pretty quickly when they finally saw it."

"They'd have to!" Brea laughed. Perceptor sat both humans down on the bench, freeing his hands to point out various pieces or details of the room and the significance behind them. When he began to explain that the designs on the ceiling were actually complex algorithms translated into graphical shapes, Brea's mind boggled and she barely heard, let alone understood, much of which Perceptor said after that.

"I never understood math very well," Brea replied, studying the ceiling with new wonder and thorough incomprehension. "Never knew it could be art either…"

"Math is the language of the universe, little human," a new voice, jovial and unfamiliar, startled Brea from her reverie and she looked over to see a Mech approach them and pause but a step from where the sat. The Mech stood a little taller then Perceptor with brown and silver armor, a face mask like Wheeljack covering the lower portion of his face. "It is the one true art to which we are all subject. You will be thoroughly conversed on the subject before you leave us, of that I am most certain."

Perceptor stood and shook the stranger's hand. "It is good to see you, Brainstorm."

"Likewise, Perceptor likewise. Always a pleasure to see you," the duly named Brainstorm then approached Bluestreak with an offered hand. "Bluestreak! How are you, my boy? I hardly recognized you without those beastly oversized cannons weighing you down!"

"Yeah well, it's a lot easier to move around now without 'em. Makes turning corners a lot easier too!" the younger Mech replied with a bright smile.

"I do not doubt it!" Brainstorm laughed cheerfully. "I imagine Prowl disposed of his as well?"

"Yeah, but I think he keeps them in his quarters, I thought I saw them once, but I wasn't sure."

"Well, one wouldn't take Prowl to be the nostalgic sort, now would they? Although I really wouldn't be surprised if it were true," Brainstorm then turned to Brea and Craig, bowing his head as he did so. "And I must extend my most principal salutations to you, my dear guests. My associates and I are incredibly thrilled of your participation in this initiative. I would endeavor to shake hands, but I fear due to our respective proportions, such formalities would be awkward and moreover improbable."

Brea found herself unable to contain her goofy smile.

* * *

"The first seminar is scheduled to begin in half a joor, so that should be plenty of time to get settled," Brainstorm explained as Bluestreak and Perceptor went about unpacking their things and setting up a human area of the room they had been given. Upon entering the rather spacious room, Brainstorm explained that it was one of the academy's instructor's quarters that were kept on hand for visiting guests like them. There was a commons area that then lead into three other rooms, two for 'recharge' and the third for 'fuel'; Brea mentally labeled it as the kitchen. Brea and Craig would occupy a corner of the room where all their supplies would be set up along with beds and what Perceptor called their 'portable waste disposal unit'.

"It's a port-a-potty," Brea snickered quietly to Craig who broke out in a grin.

Brainstorm approached their little corner. "The headmaster has requested a quick meeting before we begin the seminar," said Brainstorm. Brea noticed the question was directed at her and Craig rather then Perceptor or Bluestreak. Uncertain, they glanced at Perceptor who nodded.

"I have no objections if everyone is willing." They had no such objections, but even if they did how could they refuse? Moreover, what reason was there?

With less then three hours before they were planned to hold the first of several meetings with the school's students, Brea and Craig found themselves waiting for the Headmaster. Despite her attempts to imagine what the headmaster might look like, all Brea could envision was a robotic version of Dumbledore. After the third time of Craig asking what she was snickering about, she ceased the mental imagery.

Little over ten minutes later the door to their 'apartment' opened and a Mech walked in. Brea stared with wide eyes at the mountain of a Mech that entered, any assumptions of him resembling the weedy lithe figure of the fictional wizardry school flying instantly out the proverbial window. The Mech was as bulky as Optimus, though not quite as tall, with a very demanding presence. As he scanned the room, his optics falling on each of them in turn, Brea saw a familiar sharpness to his gaze…as if he was staring right through you.

Like Xeon.

Brea felt her heart quicken as she began to doubt her concession to the meeting. All that despite the Mech's color scheme of bright shiny yellow and what appeared to be an undecided shade of purplish pink. She unconsciously shrunk away from the figure, yet never taking her eyes off him as if he was a stalking predator.

"Impactor," Perceptor greet the Mech as amiably as he had Brainstorm, as did Bluestreak who eagerly approached and offered his hand in greetings. "It is an honor to see you again, sir."

"Cut the formalities, Percy," The headmaster quipped. "I have no tolerance for them and Brainstorm here gives me an audio full whenever I'm in range."

"Perhaps you should turn your audio receptors off then," Brainstorm retorted to a round of laughs. "He complains often enough."

"Alright, enough with this pleasantry slag," Impactor replied with a wave of his hand. "Where are these humans everyone's so glitched about?"

As the Mech glanced around for them, Brea shrunk farther away and mentally prepared to bolt if need, never minding the fact she was on a table with very limited options. Craig peeked at her curiously and was about to inquire when Impactor suddenly appeared beside the table they were sitting on. Brea stared intently at him, but he didn't seem to notice or take any special interest in the somewhat hostile behavior. In the corner of her eye, however, she noticed Perceptor and Bluestreak exchange a worried glance.

"Frag these guys are smaller then I imagined," the new Mech stated bluntly.

To her surprised, Craig laughed. "Small isn't always a bad thing."

"Never said it was, little guy," Impactor replied, a smirk coming to his face. "So what do I call you then?"

"My name's Craig," she felt him grab her arm and pull her forward, "And this is Brea."

Impactor glanced her way expectantly, but was offered no greetings other then a wary stare that border-lined on a glare. "Is she broken or something?" Impactor asked, unimpressed.

"No, I think she's just, ah…a little intimidated maybe," Craig replied hastily, rubbing Brea's shoulders in a silent placating gesture.

Impactor barked a laugh. "I tend to have that effect on some people. Not many have the ball bearings to glare at me though…"

She scrambled back when he leaned down, his face awkwardly close to their level. Using Craig's bulk to shield herself, Brea stared. After a moment, the smug grin on Impactor's face faded into a neutral, almost thoughtful, expression. "See something interesting?" He asked.

She didn't answer right away.

"You have his eyes," Brea replied at last in a quiet, almost accusing, tone. His expression didn't change.

"Who?"

"Xeon." She replied, a bite to her tone.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and then burst into laughter causing Brea to jump again, sliding further behind Craig. "The eyes of a monster, right?" She didn't answer him and Impactor just chuckled. Without another word, he reached out and nudged the older human aside and before she could react, he reached for her and plucked her up from the table. Despite the other's protests, Impact turned and found a chair, easily sliding into it and gazing at the human who had gone docile in his grip.

"You have good senses," He remarked, amused. "Although to my credit, I've killed a frag of a lot more Mechs then he has, directly anyway. Xeon's more of a manipulator. I like to use my hands."

He unclenched his fingers, freeing Brea to stand freely on his thigh. Uncertain and a little more then startled, Brea stayed perfectly still.

"Here's the thing about monsters, kiddo," He told her as he slouched in his seat, "The war made monsters out of all of us. Every one of in this room took a life over the course of the war, even good ol' Perry over there." Stunned, Brea turned to look at aforementioned Mech who merely nodded, albeit not without an air of remorse. "But that don't make him a monster does it? No, not really. Perceptor is as dangerous as a door knob with half the tolerance for pain. There are two kinds of monsters in this world; the ones you see and the ones you don't. The ones you see aren't what you should be afraid of, it's the ones you can't."

He nudged the side of her arm in a way that might have seemed playful. "You could see it in me plain and easy the moment you caught sight of me, so you got nothing to be scared of here. I may be a monster," he smirked at her, "But I have principles. And hurting and/or killing defenseless organics ain't one of 'em. So loosen up a bit. You can't very well teach these green wires anything if your too afraid to talk to 'em, now can ya?"

Brea was somewhat alleviated but was by no means at ease. He still gave her an uneasy feeling in her stomach.

"But I bet you didn't notice a thing when you saw ol' Xeon for the first time, now did ya?" he added. "And I bet it was a nasty surprise when you found out too, huh?"

Her eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in there recalling of the moment she knew. Regretfully she nodded.

Impactor just snorted a small laugh. "Thought so."

"Impactor, please," Perceptor interjected, stepping up to the Mech and placing a hand on his forearm. "Humans are extremely vulnerable to trauma and Brea's case is especially delicate when it comes to Xeon, you see…"

"I already know about all that," he waved the scientist off. "Prime filled me in on the details. So what?"

"I am merely requesting you not upset her. She's come along way in recovery and it would be detrimental to us all should all that be reversed."

Studying the scientist for a moment, Impactor shrugged and scooped Brea up once more to hand her to Perceptor. "Fine."

"Thank you, sir," he said, carefully accepting the human.

"Less then an hour until these two are exposed for a group of chattering younglings, you think they're ready for that?" The Headmaster asked. "Won't do them or their cause much good if they aren't."

"They're ready," Perceptor replied.

* * *

The room the seminars were being held resembled a theater in its construction with rows and rows of chairs planted on tiers that lowered further and further towards the front at a measured slope. A raised platform acted as the stage and as the center of focus where the audience would be directing their attention. A table had been set up on the raised dais and behind it were several chairs where Perceptor, Bluestreak, Impactor, and two others would sit and act as moderators. A podium was erected stage left, bit its purpose or use in the proceedings hadn't been explained.

Brea and Craig waited on a table in a smaller room that branched off from the main theater while the students were steered in and to their seats. Through the door, they could hear them chattering between them and it reminded Brea of her high school whenever they had been ushered into the auditorium for a presentation of some sort and it always took the teachers a long while to settle everyone. Brea tried to make out what they were saying but the muffling effect the door and the molding of so many conversations made it near impossible. Then all at once the chattering died down into abrupt silence. Impactor's voice was then heard, sounding amplified, and even through the door Brea could make out a little of what he was saying. It was a quick summary of why they had been chosen and gathered and what they should expect and how they should behave and what they should expect should they not behave. The details of which Brea found rather…imaginative despite her lack of knowledge concerning Cybertronian anatomy. However, Bluestreak was apparently well of hearing and understandably knowledgeable for he muffled a rather loud snicker and earned a somewhat disapproving glance from Perceptor.

Suddenly the door to the waiting room opened and Brainstorm peeked in. "They're ready," he said. Perceptor carefully scooped up Craig while Bluestreak took Brea before filing out into the auditorium as they were then directed to the stage. The room had been dimmed, leaving the light to shine solely on the raised dais. A virtual ocean of eyes, tiny blue pin points of light, stared out at them as they climbed the small set of stairs to the dais.

Strangely enough as she and Craig were carefully placed onto the table, Brea's mind, as it often did in the most inappropriate of times, conjured up an absurd image of Monty Python's skit where Terry Jones, Michael Palin, and Terry Gilliam, all dressed in red, jump to the forefront of the scene, cackling, "No one expects the Spanish inquisition!"

Impactor stood at the podium to their left, watching as they enter. He waited until both humans had been set on the table and all moderators had taken their seats before turning back to the audience. In Cybertronian, the Headmaster introduced Brea and Craig.

"_Welcome our guests as if they were Primus himself. They're here to help you understand a very real crisis our planet is going through, and subsequently theirs. Any form of harassment, verbal or otherwise, will earn a one way ticket to the training field and if need be I'll call in Springer to oversee it all. Keep all those instructions I just gave you in mind when you ask your questions. And if they don't wanna answer, they don't have to. They're here for your benefit so mute your vocalizer and listen._" Impactor then turned to Brea and Craig who stood on the table, side by side under the focus of the room's light, and nodded. "They're all yours."

* * *

Author's notes part two: If anyone is curious about Impactor, he was the leader of the Wreckers before Springer. Although he died in the comics, making Springer the new leader, I kept him alive because he is awesome and kicks ass. Although, the wreckers in general are awesome kick ass, figurativly and literally.


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Notes:** Sorry for the delay with this chapter. But on the plus side it's a bit longer then usual! I was having a hard time fitting everything into place. I know a lot of you were expecting a chapter of Q&A, but I want to get on with the plot. Sorry. Also! Sapphire225 is writing a somewhat side story called "Gradual Subjugation" which is set on Earth during the events of Domestic Liberation. Go check it out! Also, sorry for any grammar or spelling errors. I tried to comb through it as much as possible, but as we know, Spell check is a liar and I am naive enough to believe it.

* * *

Phase Thirteen: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Chapter Twenty-Seven

* * *

The questions started off simple and most of the students looked timid and very skeptical of the operation they were witness to. It didn't help much that Brea couldn't keep her voice from squeaking or pronouncing a word incorrectly and having to apologize repeatedly, which only served to make her more self conscious and nervous. Craig did not seem to be fairing all that well either. His brow was moist and she was not sure if it was from the lights or from his nerves. As the seminar continued, things slowly but surely began to settle and the nervousness of the situation lost its bite. The tightness in Brea's chest that had made it all but impossible to talk without squeaking was loosening. An hour into the questions (most pertaining to their planet, society) a Mech raised his hands in the air, signaling he had a question. Impactor nodded towards him in approval and the young Mech stood. For a moment, Brea thought it was Prowl standing in the crowd, but quickly realized both wing panels and red chevron were absent.

"_I would like to inquire as to the nature of you being here_," he said.

Brea had been expecting this question and was mildly surprised it had not been asked earlier. However, she was not sure how much she could say. Both Ratchet and Prowl and Perceptor and well…everybody, had warned her and Craig not to say anything that would endanger their case against Xeon. It was a slippery slope to be ever aware of, but Brea felt she could answer without letting anything important slip.

"_How I came to be here?_" asked Brea.

"_What I mean to say is that, could you recount the event in which you were abducted_."

Having already retold it several times prior to the other humans and to Jazz and Fixit and everyone, she barely felt the slightest ping of melancholy at reciting it one more time.

"_I was walking home from the place where I worked when I was chased down and incapacitated. I woke up on the cargo ship heading for Cybertron_."

"_What purpose did you serve?_"

"_I was kept as a pet_."

"_By whom?_"

She felt a twinge of panic at having been asked the dreaded question, but swallowed her fear. "_I'm not at liberty to discuss that_," she replied smoothly. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Perceptor smile approvingly. "_It's of no consequence_," she added.

This did not seem to phase the Mech at all and he continued on. "_Could you identify your abductor is faced with him_?"

Brea considered. "_No_," she replied. "_It was too dark to see and by the time he had transformed I was already half into stasis_. _I only remember seeing that his arm was blue and he had black hands._" What she said seemed to strike the Mech. Even in the dim light of the room, Brea could see his face lift as if a thought just struck him and made him happy. He quietly thanked her and sat down. Before Brea could think more of it, another Mech stood to ask a question and the seminar continued on.

* * *

Brea laid her head back and stared up at the ceiling that stretched so far above her, trying to focus beyond the pounding in her skull. Two seminars in and she was thoroughly drained. These people were exhausting! At that moment, poor Craig was fending for himself with the young Cybertronians' questions (with Perceptor graciously translating) at the third meeting which she had decided to skip due to feeling ill.

Most of the questions were innocent enough, but as time pressed on the more inquisitive ones began to ask things such as "How does your culture differ from in the way of personal philosophy" or "What is the ecological make up of your planet" and things like that. Luckily, Brea had managed to navigate, albeit awkwardly, through such questions (as far as she understood them), but was able to mask her uncertainty with her rough Cybertronian. Just before the third one was set to begin, she asked if she could sit it out, sighting that she was not feeling well. Which was the truth, but mostly she was not certain she could sit through another seminar without snapping at someone. Also, her mind was heavy with thoughts and she needed to sort through them.

Perceptor readily agreed, likely worried she was falling ill. He had come to check on her several times already, fearing she might have contracted something from Preston. So far, Brea was almost sure she was just tired and needed more sleep. At worst, she might have caught a cold. Sleep, of course, was hard to come by as she lay there, mind all a jumble. The Mech who had asked about her abduction was still fresh in her mind and she wondered what his reaction to her answer meant if anything. Finally having enough of the muddled thoughts and worries, Brea forced herself into steadying her mind, trying not to think of anything…

But when things were quiet, it was hard to keep suppressed thoughts from resurfacing and it was hard not to give into the overwhelming desire to cry. Several moments later, she was started by the sound of the door opening. Begrudgingly, she pushed herself up on her arms to look up, expecting to see Perceptor or perhaps Brainstorm or Bluestreak. But it wasn't him, or any Mech she recognized. It stood in front of the door, looking around curiously. Its face was unreadable due to the mask and visor, but upon looking at him, an inane thought struck her.

_Red visor…_

"Um…Excuse me?" She said, shrugging off the observation and getting up. The Mech's head snapped to look at her and the visor glowed and it stomped forward. Nervous now, she stammered as she slowly began walking back. "C-can I help you?"

The Mech stopped at the edge of the table where Craig and her things had been set up, regarding her with unknown intent. In the back of her mind, in the section of irrational fears, thoughts generated likely scenarios and explanations for the Mech's presence. None of them friendly, yet logic demanded she calm herself and keep a level head. She was just being paranoid.

"What do you want?" Brea demanded meekly.

"You're a hard target you know that?" The Mech said, sounding almost friendly. But his jovial tone did not ease her. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Her stomach dropped and she stiffened.

_Target? What does he…? No_, she thought. _It's not…he's not…_ _because of that…He didn't send him. He didn't send him. He didn't…_

"What? Why? What do you want?"

"Me? I just wanna get paid. Mech's gotta do what a Mech's gotta do to keep his tank full. We weren't sure if it was you or not. Lucky for us, Prime doesn't seem too interested in keeping his witnesses under close wraps." And with that, the Mech reached out and grabbed Brea, pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her up off the table. For a moment, Brea was too stunned to struggle or scream. The Mech turned to leave and she returned to reality with a jolt.

"Let me go!" Brea demanded, wiggling ineffectively and trying to wreath herself from his fingers.

"Kinda strange," the Mech mused, unconcerned for his prey's resentment. "Such a little thing could be worth so much."

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! NO! _

"_PERCEPTOR! BLUESTREAK_!" Brea screamed as loud and as hard as she could muster, causing her voice to break towards the end, resulting ion a high pitched squeak. The hand holding her jolted as if she had started the Mech, but then the other hand came down on her, muffling her screams. "_CRAI_—"

"Quiet," He hissed at her.

She screamed harder until the hand squeezed her and breath was cut off. There were no more logical thoughts as Brea turned into full panic mode. The fingers did not loosen and she found it hard to take in a full breath and began to hyperventilate. Somewhere along the way she lost all perception of reality, too scared to even process what she was hearing or feeling other then the blind panic and utter denial and praying she was dreaming.

At some point it all became too much and she fainted.

* * *

Brea woke up with a start. Her vision was ringed by four walls and she blinked stupidly at them before memory came flooding back. Her heart pounded in her chest and he jumped to her feet. Whirling around, she took in her surroundings. She was in some sort of box, the edged of which came up to her neck. Grasping the edges, she looked beyond her enclosure. It took a moment for her to register that she was in a personal transport vehicle, like the one she had taken to the Academy with the others! The box she was in had been placed in the passenger seat. The driver seat was empty.

Faint voices caught her ear and she craned her neck to see beyond the back of the seat. The craft door was open and just outside stood the Mech who had grabbed her as he spoke to another Mech in low tones. With a disheartening start, she realized the Mech he was speaking to was the one who had asked her about her abduction during the first seminar. She couldn't tell what they were discussing, and in reality she wasn't eager to either. She felt as though she might have a pretty good guess.

It wasn't too much of a leap of faith to know exactly where she was being taken. Feeling suddenly trapped in her own reality, Brea hugged herself and began to tremble. Tears brimmed her eyes and she fought the urge to scream out for one of the Autobots to come and save her. Everything ached and Brea was unable to see past the gloom of hopelessness. She didn't even have the energy to panic and try to come up with an escape plane or what to…

Waitaminute. Before another swell of dread could take over, an idea struck her. A daring idea, a _stupid_ idea, there was no way it would work…and yet.

Careful not to make a sound, Brea walked to the other side of the box, out of sight from the door. Just above it was the passenger seat arm rest with only a few feet in between the end and the dashboard. She tried to haul herself up out of the box, but it was simply too high and the metal was too thin to make any sort of adequate anchorage point. Her weight bared down on her palms, making sore red imprints of the metal edge into them. She tried several more times, ignoring the pain coming from her hands, until she managed to get one knee on the edge and grabbed the arm rest with one hand. It was awkward and painful, but she managed to negotiate herself onto the arm rest, taking a quick moment to ease the rapid beatings of her heart. From there, she carefully walked along the length of the arm rest and making a leap to the dash board. She landed awkwardly and nearly fell back and onto the floor, but managed to right herself.

A sound alerted her back to the two Mechs, standing just outside, and she waited for them with bated breath for them to either enter the vehicle or ruin her escape plan in some way or to resume their conversation. After a moment of nothing, she slowly began to move on with her plan, ever watchful of the Mechs. Carefully, she stepped over the controls and numerous buttons until she came to a small set of buttons near the steering wheel. Wracking her brain, Brea struggled to recall which of them controlled the door. Brea struggled between the far left or the far right button. It was one of them, she was sure. With a bracing breath and a leap of faith, she pressed the left button…and the door blessedly closed.

"Hey!" The Mechs outside yelled after noticing the door, and tried to stop it but it closed neatly into place, nearly crushing their fingers in the process. Muffled, anger filled voices drifted through the metal. It was the point of no return. Without wasting anymore time, Brea ran to the middle of the dashboard to the autopilot controls and began pushing buttons until the screen blinked to life, turning a light blue. The craft began to hum and vibrate as the autopilot booted up and it slowly rose from the ground, hovering in midair. The muffled yells of the angry Mechs outside were drowned in the roar of the craft.

"_Please specify destination_," came the mechanical voice from nowhere.

"_The Sanctuary_!" She cried.

For a moment there was nothing. And then the voice replied, "_Destination not registered. Please select valid location from default settings or select location from map_."

Brea felt her spirits sink. The blue screen disappeared to be replaced with an odd map, different colored lines crisscrossing all over.

"Oh man," Brea despaired, unsure what to do, but very sure that she have little time to deliberate. Resigned, she closed her eyes and slammed her hand down on a random spot.

A deathly silence stayed the room for a moment while reality itself seemed to pause.

"_Selection verified; Beryllium Plaza. Estimated arrival time 0.56 breems_."

The craft began to rise, higher and higher, the roar of its engines masking all other sounds, and the city in front of her fell slowly below the windshield's view as the craft ascended. Without warning, it suddenly pitched forward and Brea scrambled for purchase on the dashboard, crying out as she did for fear of flying off and breaking an arm or leg. That wouldn't do. She remained clamped to the controls for several seconds, too afraid to let go. As she calmed, Brea managed to unglue herself and she concentrated on calming her racing heart once more. Wherever she had chosen, she just hoped there would be someone willing to help her. She watched the city roll by. It grew quiet and Brea turned to ponder how best to move forward.

_What now?_ She thought.

How long had she been passed out? Did Perceptor or Bluestreak or Craig realize she was gone? Probably, but would they be able to find her? She needed to find someone, anyone, to help her contact them. What if she couldn't find anyone to help? What if they treated her like a stray and sent her to the human pound or something like that? What if she was taken to a euthanizing facility?

_Oh god…_She felt her headache return with a vengeance now accompanied by her old friend Mr. Nausea. An overwhelming feeling of 'oh why me' crept over her and she sat still and wept.

In passing, she happened to glance down and spot a familiar building, sending a jolt of hope through her. It was the one she had seen when they had first left the Sanctuary! So it must be close, she decided. Renewed conviction spurred her into action and she leapt to her feet, scrambling toward the autopilot. She needed to land!

_How do you land this thing again? _She thought not without a healthy helping of panic.

The screen had returned to a happy shade of blue. Reaching out, Brea pressed the screen, expecting the voice to ask her for a new location. Instead, it said "_Autopilot disabled. Please take hold of controls and drive safely_."

She could feel the autopilot let go almost immediately as the steering wheel turned one way and the ship began to tilt, descending rapidly. Brea almost burst into tears and slammed her fist onto the controls in sheer desperation. "No damn it! Pull up, pull up! Oh _God_ please pull up!"

"_Please specify destination_."

"I already told you! You stupid machine! The Sanctuary!"

With an angry growl, Brea struggled to keep her footing as she ran across the dashboard and tried to take hold of the steering wheel. It barely moved as she heaved and pushed and pulled in an attempt to pull the craft up. Buildings zoomed past and Brea turned to see the ground rearing up. At a complete loss as to what she could do, Brea made a mad dash and leapt back into the box she had awoken in and braced herself.

Suddenly, the mechanical voice rang out, "_Initiating crash prevention measures, please secure all restraints_."

There was a moment of blissful yet terrifying silence before the world came crashing down in an awesome and terrifying display or light sound and screams. An incredible sense of movement and pain overwhelmed all of Brea's senses and perceptions and everything was jerking around and tumbling. When everything stilled, there was nothing but silence.

* * *

Incomprehension filled her at first before she opened her eyes to a blurry world of gray shaded blobs. Breathing through her mouth, her bottom lip felt swollen and one of her shoulders _really _hurt. Her head felt as though it had been split open and she felt ill. Her vision slowly gained clarity and she was aware that she had been wrapped in some sort of scratchy towel material and was laying on a large desk, surrounded by several data pads. The room was dark with strangely luminescent light reflecting off of things and glowing with otherworldly hues. There was a perpetual sound of humming and soft clicks of machinery.

Motion caught her eye and slowly she turned to look at a large red Mech that was engrossed in the large glowing screen in front of him. What was projected on the large viewers was utterly incomprehensible to Brea and she made no real effort to study it. Instead, she debated on whether the Mech was friendly or someone she should be wary of. At the moment, she was more predisposed to assume the worse.

A sudden buzzing filled the room, startling her badly. The large red Mech reached out to the screen and tapped an icon on the far right. A square popped into existence in the middle of the viewers, displaying the visage of another Mech.

"_Ironhide here, what do you need Magnus?_" Said the red Mech in a gruff voice.

"_Any updates on the Beryllium plaza crash?_" The Mech – Magnus – asked.

"_Yep_," Ironhide said. "_The_ _craft is registered to a Mech named Rebar. Ran his serials through the system. He's got a pretty long record. Petty thefts and public brawls, mostly. He's been accused of some big stuff, but never convicted. Whirl's been given the task on finding him and bringing his sorry skid plate in for questioning. No luck yet_."

"_Who was driving the craftt?"_

"_No one."_

"_Really? Did he leave the autopilot on do you think?_"

"_No. I had my techs run through the data logs. Someone was operating the thing. Autopilot was set to land at Beryllium plaza but for some reason it was turned off and it crashed_."

"_Sounds like nothing more then a glitch_."

"_Maybe. I'm not too sure though_."

"_Oh? Why is that?_"

"_Techs said the craft's fine save for the damage from the crash." _The Mech paused, then added, "_Plus, Rebar's record shows him as a former Decepticon_."

The Mech on the screen sighed heavily, looking tired. "_Ironhide, you can't use that as evidence that he-_"

"_I'm just saying that until he's proven innocent, I ain't letting him off_."

The Mech on the screen sighed again and nodded. "_Very well. Keep me updated. Ultra Magnus out_."

Careful of her sore body, not knowing what was injured or how bad, Brea maneuvered herself into a sitting position. Her shoulder really hurt! Wincing against the throbbing ache, she gingerly touched the skin. It was hot and sore, but there didn't seem to be anything broken as far as she could tell. One good thing at least…

A large shape slid into her immediate vision and Brea jerked her head up to see the red Mech looking down at her. With a panicked squeak, she fumbled backwards, trying to get away, but the pain in her shoulder demanded attention. She sucked air over her teeth and winced.

When she looked up again, the large red hand of the Mech was reaching for her. Brea screamed.

* * *

**Author's Notes part two**: Well, hopefully that'll hold you all for a time while I work on the next bit. Again, sorry for the dely and the very likely dely of the next one as well. Until then, be cool and eat your veggies. Lnzy1 out!


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Notes:** Slowly but surely folks, slowly but surely. I have much if not all of the remainder of the story planned out. How many chapters that will be has yet to be seen, but know we are begining to wind down to the end. I thank each and every one of you for your support and reviews! I decided to post today because it's getting close to christmas and plus today is my birthday! So please review and make today special! Thanks everyone and Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

* * *

Phase Thirteen: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Chapter Twenty-Eight

* * *

The Mech flinched and pulled his hand away with a curse.

"_Stop that_!" It demanded hotly. Brea closed her mouth tight, but did not relax. The Mech placed a hand to his temple and shook his head as if trying to clear it. When he looked back down at her, he fixed with a glare. Clearly he was unappreciative of being screamed at. However, Brea was not in much of a cooperative mood either.

Alright, so maybe that was a bad move. Feeling the situation becoming more dismal by the moment and fearing she might have royally pissed him off, Brea tried another tactic.

"_They'll come for me_!" She blurted, narrowing her eyes and trying to keep herself from trembling.

The Mech's eyes widened a little at that. He looked confused.

"_They'll find out where I am and come for me_." It was quiet an effort to attempt at appearing threatening when one was but an eighth the size of their opponent. And Brea's was clearly not buying it. His optics narrowed and he bent down to her level, all but shoving his face into her. Brea bit down on another scream and leaned back away from the encroaching visage. A chocked squeak blurted out of her as her shoulder reminded her it was still much in pain. As if she really was in need of such a reminder.

"_Who_?" The Mech asked evenly as if he thought she was hard of hearing or just slow.

Determined not to be dissuaded, Brea held her grown. Puffing her chest out in a very 'I'm not gonna take it' attitude, she stuck out her chin, all the while trying to keep her lip from trembling too badly.

"_Optimus!_" She declared with forced bravado, hoping the mere mentioning of the Emirate's name would somehow dissuade him from whatever plans he had for her. "_He'll come and you're gonna be in trouble because when Ratchet find out he's gonna –_"

She was cut off but a loud, boisterous laugh. The abruptness startled her and she hurried to cover her ears, but one again being reminded of her tender shoulder muscles, knee-jerk reactions be damned. Looking up, she saw the large red Mech chuckling and shaking his head. Was that a good thing, she wondered? When he redirected his attention to her, he bore an amused grin. Before saying anything, he reached around and grabbed a chair, pulling it towards him. As he lowered himself into it, he smirked at her.

"So you're one of _Prime's_ wards, then?" The Mech asked, in English.

Stunned and a little confused at the abrupt change of the situation, she nodded numbly, inching away. "Uh-huh…"

"You don't need to be all fidgety, I ain't gonna do nothin' to ya." He tapped the table top. "Yer safe here."

Brea blinked and stared at him warily. "…how do I know you're not lying?" That seemed to surprise the Mech and yet he seemed pleased with the question. He reached up to his chest plate and pulled on a panel. Set inside was the red face insignia of the Autobots. Her apprehension melted away at seeing the familiar symbol; Jazz and Bluestreak both had their old badges hidden somewhere on their frame too.

The Mech was grinning widely. "My name's Ironhide, former Autobot. I was Prime's Security Officer and personal bodyguard during the war."

"Oh," she said. "I'm Brea."

The Mech leaned back into his chair. "So, let's get down to business," Ironhide said, righting in his chair to lean forward. His amused grin had faded into a grim stare, serious but not unfriendly. "How did one of Prime's foundlings end up in a crashed craft belonging to a former Decepticon?"

_Foundling? _Brea thought. "He kidnapped me from the Academy," she said.

"What were you doing there? I haven't heard Impactor creating any programs for organics."

"No, me and another human were there with Perceptor and Bluestreak. We were there to talk to the students to try and kind of relate ourselves to them so they would care a little about us," She replied. "I don't know how long ago it was, I kind of blacked out for most of it."

Ironhide ran his thumb across his chin in contemplation. Wordlessly he got up from his seat and strode over to the computer consol and began typing. After a moment, he made a curious humming noise. "If they know you're gone they haven't reported it. Nothing in the server about missing humans. They might not even know you're gone yet."

"Of they just don't want a lot of attention."

"How so?"

"Well…I'm kinda on a hit list…of sorts."

Ironhide turned to look at her over his broad shoulder, clearly skeptical. "…of sorts?"

Brea nodded.

"Why?"

"I know someone's dirty little secrets."

Ironhide's expression was still for a moment for an odd look of revelation spread over his features. He leaned down towards her with intent optics, face grim and serious. "You're not our key witness to the trial are you?"

Before Brea could answer, a buzz filled the room and an unfamiliar voice rang out from nowhere and everywhere. "_Sir? You might wanna come up to the reception desk. We have a guest up front requesting an estimate of the cost for the plaza crash. Says he's gonna pay for it._"

Ironhide's optics narrowed. "_Why so generous? What's his aim_?"

"_Looks to me like he's bribing us to not pursue the investigation_. _He came with Breakout to talk to you about it."_

"_Who is he? Has he identified himself_?"

"_Says he's an associate of Rebar's boss_ _and says the crash was all a 'grievous error' that his boss wants to 'amend'. Also, he's asking about what was confiscated from the craft. He wants us to give it all back._"

"God dammit!" Brea hissed. "Is this ever gonna stop?!"

"_What was that sir_?"

"_Nothing_," Ironhide was quiet for a very long moment. "_Ask him what specifically he is looking for_."

He glanced back down at Brea. She sat still and stiff, breathing deep and long trying not to let her emotions run away with her. She was more angry then scared at this point. When she looked up to meet the Mech's optics she shook her head pleadingly.

"_Don't…_" she whispered.

The mysterious voice returned. "_Said there was a data pad case he needs back and an organic he's looking for._"

Brea flinched at the word 'organic' and bit her lip. Closing her eyes, she looked down at the table top, trying to breathe normally.

"_Tell him we have the data pads, he can have those as soon as he's filled out the form, but the organic didn't survive the crash_."

Brea looked up to see Ironhide smiling deviously down at her.

"…_sir_?" There was clear confusion on the voice's part. "_But didn't it…_"

"_The organic didn't survive_," Ironhide repeated, enunciating each word with deliberate stress.

"_Oh, yes sir_."

"_Make a copy of the data pads before giving them back. Send me the copies when you're done_."

"_Yes sir_. _Draft out."_ There was a _click_ and the voice was gone.

Brea stared at him gratefully. "You lied."

For a long moment Ironhide did not speak or move. He stood in front of the table, staring off intently, deep in thought. Brea was quiet, not wanting to interrupt whatever thought processes he was working through.

"Something's not right here," Ironhide finally groused, turning to the computer again. "Why would Prime not send out a notice, but Rebar's boss sends a lawyer over to smooth it all down? Something ain't lining up."

Brea carefully negotiated herself to stand and strode over the edge of the table. "What are you going to do?"

Ironhide didn't answer her right away. "Someone's been inside the server," he growled. "A notification entry was deleted…whoever did it was sloppy too. I'll bet you a case of Tarn High Grade that it was Prime's note about you."

"So, what does that mean? Who deleted it?"

"I don't know," he replied. "But it can't mean anything good. Someone really doesn't want you found I'd wager."

"Who's Rebar's boss? Is it Xeon?"

"Don't know. I'm not authorized to seek that info without a warrant."

"Can't you call Optimus?" Brea asked, feeling her grip on her emotions slipping. "Tell him I'm here so he can send someone to get me."

"No. Can't risk the transmission. If they can get into the server to delete a notification, they can certainly monitor our communications. We don't use a secure line, it's against regulation."

"I just want to go back to the Sanctuary! Can't you take me?"

Ironhide turned around, regarding Brea curiously. "Calm down, kid. I'm not gonna just hand you over. I wanna see those slagheaps get tossed behind energized bard as much as Prime or anyone. I'd take you, but I don't know where it is. Prime tried to recruit me a while back but I didn't take the offer. I stayed here."

"So what are we gonna do? Just sit and wait here for Xeon to send his _personal army_ after me?"

"I said calm down," Ironhide growled. "Getting worked up isn't gonna help you none."

"I can't help it!" Brea barked, gesturing wildly with her uninjured arm. "I'm sick of having to run from him all the time! No matter what I do he's always there waiting for the chance to smite me after he failed the first time! Do you have any idea how _seriously _freaked out I am? How would you like it if some psychotic giant was hell bent on _destroying _you for _nothing_ you did wrong? _Huh!? _I didn't_ ask _to be here you know_!_"

Ironhide was silent as Brea yelled, arms cross and expression neutral. "Been holding all that in for a while haven't ya?"

"And I'm not finished!" She cried, full on angry tirade mode. She began to pace. "Before all of this crap, we never even knew for sure if there were any of life forms outside our own planet. Hello! Thanks for the really rude wake up call! Oh! And you know what else? My entire species is being enslaved and our planet is probably destroyed beyond repair. And on top of all that, my family is probably dead, long gone. So even by chance I do survive, what exactly is left for me? And even if they are alive, for how much longer? They probably think I'm dead too! And they may be right! Xeon's bound to get to me sooner or later, no matter where I go he's there or one of his cronies is! I might as well go hand myself over and beg for a quick death!"

Brea stared at the Mech, out of breath and with watery eyes.

"…that's not a bad idea," Ironhide mused.

Brea scoffed. "What? Are you crazy? I was just…"

"No, listen here," Ironhide leaned onto the table again and pointing his finger close to her face, making her go cross-eyed, "Xeon's a public figure. Whatever he does is closely scrutinized, it's why he's got so many shady deals under the table. So, instead of hiding you, we'll just put you out for all to see."

Brea stepped back from the red digit to look up at his face. "You are nuts."

"I'll take you to the Citadel," Ironhide decided, ignoring her. "It's heavily fortified with guards all over the place. If he tried anything in there, he'd be convicting himself before the trail even begins!"

"That's what they said when we went to the academy," Brea grouched, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"The academy is a school; I'm talking about Cybertron's capital building where the Senate and Council are held, our main body of government. I'd be able to get in contact with Prime better from the Citadel, too," Ironhide added. "He might even be there, or Prowl at least. And if not, there're a million places to stash you until we get in contact with him."

* * *

Brea was not amused. "Can I come out yet?"

"No."

A pause.

"How long until we get there?"

"A breem. Maybe longer if you don't quite your whining."

"In case you didn't know, traveling by box is not very comfortable."

"You got any better ideas?"

There was silence from the box.

"That's what I thought."

Ironhide's plan was simple, almost on the verge of stupid. He would sneak Brea into the compound inside a box and hide her somewhere until he could locate either Prime or Prowl or at least get in contact with them. As an officer to the Iacon's security task force, he was granted virtually limitless access to important buildings such as the citadel. So far, Brea was still working through her 'Why me? Angry at the world and my rotten' luck stage which primarily consisted of a lot of whining. Which Ironhide did not appear to appreciate all that much.

"Ultra Magnus's is gonna hang me out to dry when he hears I'm abusing my authority," Ironhide muttered, seemingly to himself. However, Brea thought she detected a small hint of excitement in his tone at the notion of getting caught and reprimanded. Could Cybertronians be adrenaline junkies if they didn't have adrenaline?

"Is he an Autobot?"

"Of course!" Ironhide boomed. "No way he'd be a 'Con. Magnus? Ha! He could barely handle being an Autobot. Poor slagger has trouble with powers of authority. Great mind, but barely any self confidence. Doesn't take pressure real well. Which is hilarious when you think about it."

"Why's that?"

"He was Prime's field commander."

"…why?"

"Prime's a good judge of character. Magnus's has the potential to be a great military commander, but he needs a bit of pushing for him to realize it. But whenever we really needed him he was there. Since the war's end, he's taken to the commonplace routine pretty well. A lot less pressure ordering around a few security bots then an army."

"I suppose so."

"What about you?"

"What?"

"What are these dirty little secrets you know about Xeon that it would grant him sending bounty hunters after you?"

Brea felt no restraint in telling Ironhide everything. Like the many times before she had recited her tale, it was very therapeutic.

* * *

**Author's Notes part 2:** A little short I know, but if I added any more the chapter would have been uber long and would have taken longer to get to you all and like I said before, I wanted to get this out today! =D


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